


Feathers, books and peaches - or on the nature of free will

by AK_Sushi



Series: ApocaAgain universe [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: (Will go as well as the first), Established Relationship, F/M, Humor, I actually managed to write a whole scene with Shadwell, M/M, No Beta, No really I was surprised too, Note: author likes decribing the wheather, Original Character(s), Philosophical Discussions, Puking in chapter 10 - Freeform, The Second Apocalypse (Good Omens), The very start of Michael/Dagon, rating for swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2020-11-27 01:34:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 35,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20940104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AK_Sushi/pseuds/AK_Sushi
Summary: Over the long millennia of being alive, Aziraphale made a lot of memories he would not be able to forget. And the view in front of him seared right into his mind next to those. 7 years after the apocalypse-that-wasn’t their suspicions had came true – Heaven and Hell, together against humanity. And Heaven was burning.Oh, bother.But in order to understand how it came to the flames currently blazing in the Heavenly office skyscrapers we need to start far earlier. Not at the very beginning, someone else covered that. Also not directly after the averted apocalypse, our heroes deserved that peaceful year. No, this tale will start in 2020, one year after the averted apocalypse.





	1. Oh no, we forgot about Warlock

-2020, Late July, London, UK-

A dove was nesting between anti bird spikes on the ledge on top of a window, proving the efficiency of hostile architecture. Her head was tucked behind her wing. While she softly cooed, she shifted her body to find a more comfortable position. Wings fluttered. The movement dislodged a down feather, light city-grey in color. It drifted lazily towards the ground. It was stirred up again when three people – a human woman and two male presenting agender beings passed the roost of the pigeon. The dove opened her eyes and shifted her head so that her left eye could track the movement of the three figures. Sensing no threat, she readjusted to rest, dozing off to sleep.

In conflict to the long-time weathorial history of the United Kingdom it was surprisingly sunny. Even the humidity which plagued big parts of Europe during the last couple weeks decided today to give a day of respite. And in the rays of sun which managed to crawl between the gaps of the buildings, a demon got a text message.

The demon Crowley was walking behind an angel and the woman said angel had possessed for a while. The angel, Aziraphale, had taken a liken towards Madame Tracy, which was predictable considering they shared a body for quite a while. Despite moving into a cottage in the South Downs, Aziraphale and Crowley still regularly visited London for various reasons. To sample new restaurants, visit the old haunts, check out book auctions, feed ducks, stare at a bookshop to make sure it stayed unburnt, art galleries, heckling politicians, the theater, to visit both Tracy and Shadwell – Well, mostly Tracy.

Aziraphale and Madame Tracy were chattering excitedly. The conversation jumped from topic to topic, talking about various happenings – her work as a medium, the last policy decisions and indecisions of the parliament and the prime minister, about some of Shakespeare’s works, that Shadwell has pledged some more poor souls (two very bored and slightly drunk Latin students) towards his witchfinder army. Crowley made the mental note to increase the funds he was giving to the army – for completely nefarious purposes, of course. Aziraphale made the same note, with different justifications.

Old habits are hard to break, okay?

As Aziraphale and Tracy were chatting, Crowley took out his phone to see if he could stir up some trouble on some social media sites and saw that he had a message.

A short sentence form an unknown number and Crowley tensed.

_ Nanny ashtoreth? _

He remembered this name – how could he not? The boy might have not been the Antichrist, but the demon still spent six years with him and had grown quite fond of the little rascal. He was a metaphorical nightmare, rebellious, inquisitive, independent, attentive, loud and with capital-letter-Opinions. Just- just like a kid is supposed to be. 

But in the whole incident of the end of the world and nearly losing his angel he had forgotten about him. A spike of shame flared up which he quickly chased away – Hell and him weren’t on speaking terms and he was a pretty lousy demon, sure, but he still was a demon, so shame was just unbecoming.

Because emotional repression is healthy and hadn’t caused the fuck-ton of issues most angels and demons had. 

Crowley resolved to make amends with the poor boy. And to find out how the boy got his private mobile number. 

‘Oi, angel’

The two in front of him interrupted their talk about Tracy’s and Shadwell’s current vacation plan, something about travelling to the coast, enjoying the weather, oh, don’t worry, I have enough for the both of us, dearie.

‘Yes, dear?’

‘Warlock – remember him?’

The angel knitted his brows.

‘Of course I do. Whatever is the matter about him?’

‘Wrote me a message. No idea how he got my number.’

Madame Tracy hummed and asked, ‘Who is Warlock?’

Aziraphale looked at her and answered, ‘He was the boy who we thought was the Antichrist, it’s quite the story, my dear. I posed as a gardener-’

‘Focus, angel,’ Crowley interrupted him.

‘I guess we did leave him quite suddenly, didn’t we?’ Aziraphale looked a bit frowny. He turned towards the demon behind him and asked, ‘How is he?’

‘How would I know?’ There was no bite in the demon’s answer despite the wording. He held up the phone’s screen towards the two in front of him. ‘He just wrote ‘Nanny Ashtoreth?’ and nothing else.’

Madame Tracy lifted her eyebrows, thought about the year she knew the two beings and discarded any questions.

‘Well, I suppose we do owe the poor boy some answers.’

Crowley made a humming sound which tried for ‘If you think so’ but landed at ‘Of course’. He turned his phone towards himself and started typing, while Aziraphale and Madame Tracy started walking again picking up their conversation about prime vacation spots.

C _Warlock Dowling?_

The three beings turned into a small building, their destination. A small cafe, a business which had no business being profitable but still remained through sheer stubbornness. The interior design stood out via absolute incoherence in style and while Aziraphale ordered coffee and small pastries the demon and Madame Tracy sat by the window.

Tracy just watched the street out of the window while Crowley glanced on his phone on the table. Over the last couple minutes the words “typing...” occasionally appeared over the open messenger window, but no text came through.

Aziraphale put a cup of pitch black coffee in front of Crowley and a latte in front of Madame Tracy before returning to gather the plates with some northern German cinnamon pastry he got for the two of them and his tea.

Crowley sipped his coffee, savoring the bitterness. His phone chimed, indicating another message.

W _Yeah_

W _What youre up to??_

Aziraphale sat down and resumed his chat with Madame Tracy. Crowley took the angel’s hand absentmindedly and held it.

C _Nothing much. Nanny things. How’s school?_

W _Why are adults always asking about school?? _🙄

C _Because adults are really awkward but pretend that they aren’t._

W _Lol_

W _Schools fine though school here in the usa is so different from school in the uk! Weird_

W _Did you run away with brother francis? The maids are saying that you did_

C _Are they, now? It’s accurate enough, yes. _

W _I knew it!!_

C _So, how did you get my number?_

As there was a silence in the text conversation, the conversation between Aziraphale and Madame Tracy also came to a lull while they ate their food. Outside the window pedestrians passed in the evening lights. Each person, walking with a goal in their mind, barely paying attention to the others around them, or the missed apocalypse that had nearly killed them all. But why would they? Missed apocalypses don’t pay rent or put food on the table. A group of teenagers passed, laughing drunk on life. They stopped right before the window and took a selfie while showing peace signs. A pair of women clung onto each other, lost in their own world, giggling and kissing. A man in a suit, arguing animatedly with the phone at his ear. The sun rays danced through the dusty air inside.

‘To think that all this would have been lost.’ Madame Tracy’s voice cut through the silence they had sunk into.

‘Yes. That would have been a shame.’

Aziraphale started talking about some anecdote of their new life down in the south about nosy neighbors and crafty kids and the apple tree in their garden and Tracy occasionally interjected with questions.

W _Ive just been trying all cell phone numbers with england area code_

Crowley just raised his eyebrows at that.

W _With a script, asked one of my teachers for help since shes a programmer_

W _Got some interesting answers lol_

The demon decided to find out those ‘answers’ and make sure that those people were not able to use a phone ever again. But before he could really delve into any elaborate fantasies another message arrived.

W _Abd you are really nanny astoreth?_

C _Yes, Warlock, dear._

W _Prove it_

Crowley hummed and drummed his fingers on the rough wood of the table.

C _Go to sleep and dream of pain, doom and darkness, blood and brains – Rings a bell?_

W _Yeah_

W _Nanny… I dont know where you and francis are_

W _Please visit??? I miss you washingtons boring_

Crowley heaved a sigh. Aziraphale shot him a look. The demon put his phone down. 

‘So, Angel, what you’re thinking about a trip to America?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that this is my first work of fictional writing since 2005 and that english is my secondary language.  
And I really hope that you have even a quarter of the fun I had while writing it when you read it!  
Note: While I'll comb through the chapters before posting them the tags might update.


	2. Hey Warlock, sorry about forgetting you, have a feather.

-2020, Late July, London Heathrow, UK-

After being able to miraculously order some very last-minute tickets they were boarding a plane to the US. Aziraphale still looked his usual, like a walking anachronism, while Crowley dressed in modern attire screaming ‘I am a tourist’, albeit colored completely black.

Crowley sat next to the window and watched how the plane moved, traveling to the runway. Dark gray tumultuous clouds had gathered in the sky, promising the missing summer storms and water for the burnt grass between the lanes of tarmac. The faint rumble of the turbines was shaking in his bones. The cabin air conditioning was blowing dry, cold air directly into his neck into the metal tube they were seated and he was sure that some of the humans will be sick after landing. No food will be served and anything other than a small cup of water will cost extra – he was a bit miffed that none of this was his own invention. But no, it was quite fascinating how humans love to make themselves and others uncomfortable in the pursuit of money. Mammon probably loves these greedy little executives.

Crowley watched, as the speed of the airplane built up and ultimately the tarmac below of them started to increase in distance. He was used to the feeling of his insides longing to stay at the ground while the rest of him was taking off – he had enough experience as a non-flight-oriented human-corporated being with actual wings used for flying. There was some disconnect between the human body and flight, like between ketchup and the color green or a cinnamon in a savory dish. Something you can accustomed to, but if you rarely encounter it, it is quite unsettling. Or maybe it was just him.

In some hours they will land on a different continent and visit their – uh, godson? The kid who he wrongly thought as the Antichrist and still developed genuine love towards? Crowley wasn’t sure what the relationship towards the young Warlock Dowling would be, only that it will be very awkward. And Crowley wished, in some deep corner, that Warlock will accept their apologies. And that the boy will excuse their abandon of-

The touch of a warm hand on his knee interrupted his thoughts and he turned his head towards the angel next to him.

‘Try to sleep for a bit, my dear. It will be a long flight.’

‘Eh, don’t you want to plan what we’ll tell Warlock?’

‘Well,’ the angel paused as the plane ascended above the clouds, marveling at the view. 

Heaven literally was above everything of  _ this _ and still, this was far more breathtaking. Nothing but physics, metal, kerosene and the human dream of flight. The cloud layer beneath them a pristine white and looking like the ocean’s waves, while the sky above showed a uniform, overwhelming cornflower blue. The sharp angles and cold minimalism of Heaven could never compare to  _ this _ . 

He answered, ‘We have some time. And I thought that we just should tell him the truth.’

Crowley sat still, pensive.

‘Yeah. I guess that’s what we owe him, at least.’ He leaned back and closed his eyes.

The American airport was crowded. People were pushing past without giving even one thought towards the situation around them, immersed in their thoughts, phones and destinations. Crowley sneered while they pushed through towards the baggage area, far to many people ignoring his personal space, shoving from all sides.

Aziraphale’s hand caught his own and pressed reassuringly. Crowley sighed and tried to relax. This was a human airport. High ceilings, no questionable sticky fluids on the walls, good lightning, expensive duty-free shops. A father rocking his crying baby. A young man crying and hugging a woman who cried just as much. Parents who beamed at their daughter. A human airport. Far to crowded, but still human.

Together they weaved through the masses which changed from oppressive like the grinding insides of a relentless machinery to the calming, albeit churning, flow of a river with the constant hold of the angel’s hand. Right now, Crowley could deal. 

‘I looked at the long distance travel options here, and we might want to rent a car- I have no idea how these people deal with the lack of public transit here,’ the angel explained slightly exasperated.

‘That’s fine. I can drive. Jus’ need to get used to right hand traffic,’ Crowley shrugged.

‘Are you sure?’ Aziraphale sounded unconvinced. 

‘Don’t you trust my driving, angel?’ Crowley smirked.

‘Well, I recall one time when Anathema-’

‘ _ She _ crashed into my car, that’s a difference, angel.’ 

‘And the one time in Manchester-’

‘Well, pedestrians don’t belong in the street, so not my fault that one.’

‘And in London just two weeks ago-’

‘Red lights are mostly just a suggestion. C’mon now, angel.’

Aziraphale sighed, ‘Let’s not argue. I asked the nice lady at the counter in Heathrow, and she mentioned some car lending services we can try.’

They wandered and bickered and got a normal rental car and started their drive towards the Dowling residence.

Aziraphale watched the passing landscape from the passenger window. He felt a bit strange sitting in a car with all the safety developments of the last ninety years  _ and _ seat belts while Crowley drove. 

‘I feel quite bad, that we just forgot about the poor boy. For six years we were his primary guardians and then we- we just forgot about him,’ Aziraphale admitted.

Crowley’s left arm was hanging out of the window and fought the urge to change to the left lane. Also, the whole hurting Warlock thing gnawed on him as much as he tired to push those feelings away. So he just shrugged. ‘Armageddon didn’t really leave us with time to think about others.’

‘Yes, that’s true. But afterwards we could have sent a letter or a telegram to him.’

‘Nobody uses telegrams anymore, angel.’

The wind swept through their hair while Lana del Rey sang her newest hit through the radio. 

The sun started setting, casting long shadows across the land. They decided to stop at a run down motel, no sense in arriving at the Dowling residence in the middle of the night. The clerk’s protests about the room just having one bed died in her throat with a pointed glare from Crowley.

They passed the night – Crowley sleeping and Aziraphale reading – wrapped around each other, ignoring the fast scurrying sounds on the floor of whoever knows what. (Roaches, in this case. But very friendly ones – these even tried to keep the unnerving scurrying of too many sets of six legs to a minimum, that should count as something!)

The next day they continued their journey. By early morning they reached the Dowling mansion. A fence spanning the perimeter, around lush gardens and a massive building in the middle. Crowley parked the car in front of the main gates.

The two of them got out and the rest of the path.

‘Seems that the gardeners aren’t doing a half bad job,’ Crowley quipped as he snipped the iron gate open, ‘although this hydrangea really needs a stern talking to.’

The flower sensed the intense stare on it and decided to straighten up and orient her blooms so that any passerby can admire her optimally. 

Crowley walked by unimpressed. He had rescued half dead plants from discount stores which shaped up better. He turned to the angel, ‘Remember? You even managed to wilt the sansevieria, and those are the plants of choice for forgotten bar windows sills.’

Aziraphale didn’t dignify this with an answer.

The main entrance to the mansion opened and a twelve year old boy with shoulder length black hair and his best try at a goth style ran out.

‘Nanny! Brother Francis!’ 

Crowley barely managed to brace himself before the boy collided with him. Immediately he soothingly stroked his head and looked down to the boy wrapped around his midsection. Any smiles or fond looks will be later denied furiously.

‘Hello, son. How is life treating you?’ Aziraphale greeted. 

Warlock murmured something into Crowley’s stomach.

‘I can’t hear you, Master Warlock’

Warlock turned around enough to be able to be heard an scowled.

‘’s okay,’ Warlock mumbled and buried his head again in the nanny’s stomach. 

‘But?’ Aziraphale prompted.

Warlock let go a bit. ‘Dad’s never home and mom never listens,’ Warlock muttered, barely audible.

Demon and angel shared a look. Crowley put his hands on Warlocks shoulders. The boy looked up inquisitively. 

‘Up?’ Crowley asked, the same way like back when Warlock was a barely knee-high menace and hugged Nanny’s legs for some reason or other. Warlock immediately nodded, then shook his head, then nodded again. He lifted the child into his arms and held him close. 

‘I-’, Crowley hesitated, ‘We. We will explain things to you, Warlock. Things your parents won’t understand. Or most humans, for that matter.’ He soothingly swayed the boy in his arms. ‘When d’you have time?’

‘Eh, mom’s drinking since the morning, and dad’s not here.’

A heart’s beat passed. Crowley stroked the boy’s head and hummed some generic demonic lullaby as he looked at Aziraphale who was frowning. 

‘Well, no better time than the present! Where would you be comfortable to talk about everything, Master Warlock?’

‘I think in the garden- there is a hedge and some stairs and a lot of slugs. Slugs’re funny, being all slimy.’

The trio walked in silence through the gardens, Crowley still carrying the kid. Sure, if you asked him, he could have thought about a totally evil excuse why he soothed a sad, lonely child, but nobody asked, so he just didn’t bother coming up with an excuse. Sometimes reputation’s worth a toss. They sat down on a bench right next to the stairs Warlock had pointed out and spent some time in silence.

‘So, Master Warlock? Are you ready?’ Aziraphale asked. Warlock nodded reluctantly.

‘We- We did leave you. That is the truth, and there is no sense in denying.’ Aziraphale started. 

‘We-, Uh, we are-’ Aziraphale tired to gather his thoughts, while Crowley slowly soothed the young human in his arms, ‘We aren’t human. I am an angel. Crow- Miss Ashtoreth is a demon.’ Aziraphale searched Warlock’s face to look for confusion. Warlock looked back.

He said, ‘That explains a lot- like the ‘love this poisonous plant’ or the singing about destruction stuff.’

Crowley snorted at that and Warlock grinned that he managed to make his nanny laugh.

Aziraphale fidgeted a bit, then continued, ‘We thought- Twelve years ago the Antichrist was delivered. He was to bring the end of the world after his eleventh birthday. And the end of the world – dreadful business, that! – we couldn’t have that let happen, now, so we thought, if we influenced the Antichrist together to be right between Good and Evil, between Heaven and Hell, then Armageddon won’t happen. And,’ he fidgeted once more, ‘we thought you were the Antichrist. But we were mistaken. That’s why we left so suddenly, to search for the actual Antichrist and then the end of the world business really tied up our attention.’

Warlock climbed out of Crowley’s arms to sit on the grass in front of the bench and looked far to lost for a twelve year old. He put his head in his hands and sulked with all the might only a pre-teen could yield.

‘So you just cared about me ‘cause you thought that I’m responsible for the end of the world?’

‘No, of course-’ 

‘Yes,’ the protests of the angel were interrupted by Crowley, ‘yeah. At the beginning you were just like any other five year old human. Chaotic, troublesome and always sticky. Still haven’t found out why human kids are always sticky. ‘N sure, we applied because we thought you were somebody you actually weren’t. But, I can’t really spend six years around a kid without starting to love ‘em.’

The demon hadn’t caught his slip of the tongue, but the angel on the other side of the child definitely did and so Aziraphale stared at the demon absolutely infatuated.

Warlock’s mouth was open while his mind worked.

‘Don’t tell anyone about that, though. I have a reputation to maintain,’ Crowley winked at him.

Aziraphale recovered enough to add, ‘Yes, at the beginning we were tied up with the whole Armageddon business, but afterwards we should have contacted you. Life got in the way, so we didn’t. And I’m sorry, Warlock. Can you forgive us?’

Warlock blinked and whipped his head around from demon to angel and back. 

‘What? Of course!’ he immediately jumped up, ‘I just- just missed you y’know and- and- and thought, that y’didn’t love me anymore like mom and dad- ‘nd I’n’t know wha’, an’you we’reth’nly one’swh’list’n’d-,’ Heavy sobs interrupted Warlock’s increasingly slurring rambling.

Crowley wrapped his arms around the distressed Warlock and pulled him close. A soft ‘Oh dear’ escaped Aziraphale before he leaned over to join the hug. 

Barely audible, so low that Aziraphale nearly dismissed it as the general sounds of the world around them, Crowley muttered reassurances, ‘Shh, I’m here, everything will be alright, let it out, it’s okay, show your pain’ into the boy’s hair while they hugged.

While they soothed the distress of the boy, Aziraphale was thinking. Neither his mother nor his father were willing to give the boy the care he needed. On the other hand, they just got a cottage in the south of the UK. And regardless how much they love the boy, they couldn’t interfere too much into the lives of humans – Adam had been very clear about that. But, maybe, if the Dowling’s got sent a stipend for a prestigious British school and subsequently decided to send him to the United Kingdom for his education, that would barely count for celestial involvement, would it? Where they could, coincidentally, regularly could check up on the boy? Every step along the way still would be the decision of the Dowling’s, so he could wash his hands in innocence. After six thousand years of convenient excuses he was very good at blaming extraneous circumstances for his own decisions. And sometimes the externalization was needed. A lot of time, actually.

Thoughts to explore another time.

So they spent the next three weeks with the young Warlock. Listening to his stories, who his friends were, talking about school, pointing out the lovely creation of the Almighty and encouraging mischief. Just like when he was younger. Just some weeks of unconditional care. And at the evenings the two beings returned to the nearest hotel to spend the night.

Aziraphale called out to the boy who was finishing up a soccer game with his friends. Warlock was drenched in sweat, hair pulled back in a ponytail and escaped strands plastered his forehead. He had some rather colorful swears about the opposing team in repertoire.

‘Yeah, Brother Francis?’

‘Watch your language, boy,’ Aziraphale smiled paternally. 

He sighed. ‘We will return to the UK soon. Our homes need to be tended to.’

‘So you’re leaving again, just like that?’

Aziraphale cleared his throat. He started, ‘My dear boy, I am sorry-,’ but was quickly interrupted by a playful punch of a twelve year old teen pretending that he didn’t desperately want a hug.

‘I’ll miss you – stay in touch?’

‘’course.’ Crowley put a hand on Warlock’s head and ruffled his hair which earned him a half-hearted flailing arm, ‘You ain’t gettin’ rid of us that easily.’ 

Warlock snorted.

Aziraphale put his hands on the boy’s shoulders and nudged him away, ‘We will be your guardian beings.’

‘Promise?’

‘Promise,’ The angel smiled at him encouragingly, ‘We have made some preparations.’

‘You can transfer to a UK high school. Wasn’t too hard to convince your parents, they just heard ‘expensive private school’- but only if y’ want to, of course,’ Crowley gave him a glossy flier of a boarding school with smiling students sitting stiffly around a table. Typical marketing material of a school who could afford professional photographers and didn’t give a fig about their advice.

‘I don’t know...’ Warlocks brows were knitted together.

The demon shrugged, ‘Don’t worry. You still got time. And if you want to transfer to UK, just shoot a message, ‘kay?’

Warlock nodded determined.

‘But don’t forget about me,’ the kid added.

‘We won’t,’ Crowley held out his fist, pinkie first and Warlock hooked into it without hesitating.

‘Promise,’ the angel said and looked thoughtful for a while, then smiled. 

He lifted his arm, and from behind Warlock’s ear, he pulled a pure white feather, slightly longer than his palm, soft like a kitten’s fur. He held it out to the boy. The sun refracted in each barb, whispering of more than just the color of fresh snow, and Warlock recalled the words of his art teacher – white is the amalgamation of all colors.

‘We promise.’

Warlock carefully took the feather in his hands, turning it around, marveling at it.

‘I’ll keep it safe.’

In their hotel they were packing. Well, it was mostly Aziraphale who was packing his abundance of books, old ones taken along and newly purchased ones right next to each other. 

Crowley asked, ‘Was that really wise? Giving him one of your feathers?’

‘Oh, relax, my dear. What’s the worst that could happen? Also, it wasn’t one of mine, it’s a swan feather.’

Crowley had heaps of ideas about the worst that could happen. And giving him some time he could think at least of thrice more - and do some good cataloging around what were the best and the most probable things that could happen. (No, not best and worst – most of the time the worst was just as likely as the best, so no need to worry ‘bout that. The things which were likely to happen were the most terrifying, after all.)

Crowley decided to keep all those ideas with various degrees of terrifying for himself.

The angel puttered around their hotel room and told, someone knows whether more to himself or to Crowley, ‘He will watch it like a treasure’

The boy indeed did that. He put the feather into a locked box with some of his treasures – a sister – or brother? – a sibling snail’s house, some nice looking rocks, pretty coins, figurines, a glittering stone that looked, if you squinted, like a mosquito trapped in amber, and some more small important things he had collected over the years. He swore to keep the feather safe – and safe he kept it, but still-

He was just a child.

Just a child.

One day in the next seven years, it happened. The child was hurt and lonely, but the feather reassured him on his path of life. So he had taken it out and stroked along the length of it. And then his mother had called, worried, caring. And Warlock put it away, haphazardly. Lid left open, feather loose enough to dislodge it when a breeze swept through the open window. It slowly floated towards the ground, where an honest, hard-working cleaner swept it up, thinking nothing more than some feather that had escaped the down pillow of it. The feather settled on top of the scrap the cleaning personal carried, but didn’t sink beneath the rest of the rubbish thrown into it and was, for some otherworldly reason, not sullied by dust or grime. And when the untied plastic bag of waste it resided in was placed next to a black leather bag full of important papers and it was disturbed by another breeze and gently floated between the confidential lies of some government agency and the forgotten briefing of the last meeting, then this was just some ineffable happenstance.


	3. Firzzt meeting with Beelzebub, prince of hell

-2021, Early of March, UK-

After the visit to Warlock, during the winter months, the rogue angel and demon spent their time in calm domesticity in their cottage in the south of the UK. 

Crowley had tried to, on encouragement of his angel, to pick up painting. Currently he was trying to do a portrait, but couldn’t focus on painting the details. He hit his paintbrush across the canvas, frustrated.

Aziraphale had spent the last couple days to bake every cookie in existence. And when Aziraphale thought he had created an exceptionally tasty biscuit he slunk over to Crowley to personally hand feed it to him. And of course, Crowley would give glowing praise. He was ambivalent about food, but he liked the whole hand-feeding business.

The two of them made sure to regularly write both demonic text messages and angelic letters to the young Warlock. He had decided to maybe attend school in UK.

The winter this year had a bit of an existential crisis, not sure if it should try for a sharp bite for it’s penultimate visit with frost cutting to the bone and frightful mutters about climate change, or go maybe for a more ‘Is it autumn or is it winter?’-approach of not enough rain and unusual uncomfortable December temperatures causing even more talks about global warming. Winter really hoped humanity would take the fucking hint. Fuck quasi-sentience. Reality patted winters metaphysical shoulder. 

The cold drizzle and occasional shy snowflake immediately thawing as it touched the ground contrasted starkly against the warmth of the insides of the human built buildings. 

-2021, Middle of April, Hamburg, Germany-

During the unstoppable flow of time winter had long given up against the arms of spring that had the landscape in a tight grip. And slowly it started to give over to the first hushed whispers of summer.

Aziraphale and Crowley had decided to do some short distance traveling when no more black ice threatened safe passage. After changing the side of the channel, they traveled some way more and now had spent the last week a north German city. They were walking hand in hand along streets full of people who Had Somewhere To Be (a trait all human built-up areas over a certain size share) with wide sidewalks, cars careening by, old buildings spared by the war and new buildings unloved by everybody but architects. 

Aziraphale had bought a bag full of fresh fruits and vegetables from a Turkish grocer they had just walked past. While they were chatting about some musical re-adaption of an old classic they had seen an advertisement for, a person bumped into Aziraphale’s side. 

‘Oh, sorry, I mean- Entschuldigung, ich wollte nicht-,’ the words died in the angel’s throat as he saw who he had bumped into. The Lord of the Flies, Prince of Hell, many more titles with random capitalisations,  _ the _ Beelzebub was standing a step behind him.

Oh dear.

Crowley immediately got in front of Aziraphale and put on his best ‘Hell’s greatest minion who survived holy water, fucker’-face. The lord of the flies didn’t acknowledge it, which slightly offended Crowley.

‘Cheers, your Disgrace’, Crowley greeted with a mocking bow, complete with a sarcastic wave of his hand.

‘Ah, the traitorzz,’ Beelzebub wrinkled their face as if they just stumbled upon a particular unimpressive piece of asphalt on a parking lot. Their hair was matted and flies were crawling in the deeper layers. 

Crowley cleared his throat, ‘Rare to see you up here, what brings earth the dishonor?’

Beelzebub crooked their head slightly, ‘My bezzt agent defected, zzo I zzent new onezz. And they are productive like zzhit, zzo I’m checking up on them.’

Aziraphale remarked, ‘Don’t you have employees for that?’

‘Yeah, but who truzzts employeezz?’ A passing woman in a sharp suit gave an appreciative sound, ‘last one I truzzted shagged an angel’

And the use of the word ‘trust’ flew right by said former agent.

Aziraphale bristled and coughed britishly at the word ‘shag’, to make sure that everybody in vicinity understood his displeasure. When it became clear that nobody would continue this awkward conversation, Aziraphale hemmed and opened his canvas bag full of produce. He took out a deep red and yellow peach, colored like a sunset, and offered it to the prince of Hell. 

‘It’s a bit unripe, since it is not proper harvest season here, but you might still like it’

Beelzebub looked puzzled at the fruit, at the angel still holding out the fruit and lastly at Crowley. Crowley didn’t give any indication of a reaction, so Beelzebub slowly reached for the peach, taking it into their hand. The peach sat in their hand, not contributing to the conversation beside existing. Beelzebub continued to frown at Crowley, trying to understand.

‘Yeah, he’s a weird one,’ Crowley shrugged, ‘what can ya do?’

‘Izz it poizzoined?’

‘Can demons even be poisoned?’ Aziraphale asked back. The prince buzzed noncommittally and bit into the peach. The flesh of it was soft and juicy. A sickly sweet and slightly rotten taste filled their mouth. Chewing they passed the two defectors and continued on what their way.

Crowley and Aziraphale looked after them for a while until they had disappeared into the crowd. When no more of the prince was seen, Crowley slumped his shoulders, releasing the tension that had crept into him and muttered some creative swears under his breath. 

He turned to Aziraphale and murmured, ‘We probably need to throw away the stuff we’ve bought,’ while he looked towards the canvas bag the angel still held in his hand. 

A large brown stain was spreading on the bottom of the bag, glistening with wetness. Aziraphale looked inside of it and grimaced. The fruits, once fresh and fragrant colored in the hues of nature, had turned soft and brown and rotten. A couple of flies were taking flight at the disturbance.

‘Well, that’s just rude!’ He exclaimed while he carried the produce to the nearest bin and, along with the bag, threw it away. ‘Let’s go back, I still want to try these strawberries.’

They turned around and walked back the way they came.


	4. Meeting Archangel fucking Gabriel

-2021, Early June, a small village, UK-

Late spring gave its way to summer, headlines on the papers lamenting the lack of rain. The populations of the different nectar drinkers like bumblebees, bees and butterflies had exploded like every spring and were buzzing and fluttering around the blooming flowers. 

Over the last two years both the angel and the demon had lived a calm, domestic life devout of too many (a strange run-in with a Prince of Hell notwithstanding) surprises. 

Aziraphale was strolling through a nearby small village. Crowley had wanted to take the challenge of some video game and as much Aziraphale enjoyed sitting next to him just reading he wanted to move a bit to shake out the old bones and oh, it was such a lovely day outside! So he just walked for a while, no definite goal in mind. 

He just had stopped at a small box on top of a fence around a quaint little cottage with vast green fields stretching right behind it. The front yard was full of children’s toys like a garish plastic slide and bright yellow shovels. A blue bicycle laid, discarded, on the gravel of the driveway. 

In the box on top the fence glasses of light golden honey and red jam rested. A sign scrawled in colorful crayon said ‘Pay what you want!’. Drawn next to the childish script were a grinning sun and three stick figures with wide smiling faces – depictions of the family owing this house, Aziraphale assumed. Crude penmanship and the delighted sun drawn into the corner made clear that the author was young. It was carefully laminated – by a parent, Aziraphale guessed – and he could only smile and how much love this whole set up oozed. Loving parents, who let their child write such a sign, the child who diligently fulfilled their parents request, the will to give to the community in the form of jam and honey, and the implicit trust that people will not betray them and just take everything without payment – or maybe the assumption that if somebody would take everything without giving back, that they did so because they needed to.

The last two years were so very good. Aziraphale felt content, deep into his soul. The irony that an angel only found true peace after being retired from Heaven was not lost on him. He took out a ten pound note and put it into the small collection tin while he took a glass of strawberry jam full of seeds out of the box.

‘Aziraphale, just the angel I wanted to see!’ 

Aziraphale’s body ran cold at the what he heard. He froze at the sudden harsh sound cutting through the ambient noise of nature. He knew this voice, knew it far to well and all notion of peace and love was quickly smashed. The patronizing tone wrapped around his heart in a cold grip of anxiety. Unconsciously he tried to don the strict posture the archangels demanded of their angels. Mostly it just caused Aziraphale’s shoulders to ache from the sudden tenseness. 

Aziraphale turned around and fumbled with the glass in his hands.

‘Gabriel. To what does the earth owe the honor of your visit?’ he inquired. 

Thistle-purple eyes were boring into him and he saw that Gabriel’s smile wasn’t even trying to reach his eyes. Aziraphale thought that, in the past I would have insisted that this is not meant to be predatory.

Sandalphon stood behind the Archangel and just extruded smugness, the gold decoration of his teeth gleaming.

Aziraphale thought, no non-predator looked like  _ that _ .

‘Well,’ Gabriel stared, jaw tense and hair perfectly styled, ‘after the  _ small _ obstacle we ran into with the whole Armageddon business we decided to restructure! Change the accounting ecosystem, shake up the synergy, enable holistic innovation, so we can reach a result-driven work structure. Not that  _ you _ know any of productivity.’ 

Gabriel still smiled his sharkish smile.

Aziraphale internally swore to find the person responsible for corporate speak and have some very,  _ very _ stern words with them.

‘Well, good luck with that, uh, I suppose. I am sure you can find your, uh, result-driven work space,’ Aziraphale said as he put the glass of jam he into a bag he pulled from nowhere. Gabriel cleared his throat at the casual miracle and Aziraphale tensed again, trying to think of an explanation.

Gabriel did not wait and started talking again, ‘Oh, no luck needed, everything is meticulously planned. But!’ Gabriel clapped his hands, ‘For our restructuring we are currently taking a census of all angels, regardless of how underperforming they are,’ a very pointed glare, ‘So may I ask some questions.’ 

It did not pass Aziraphale that Gabriel has intoned this as an order, not as a question. He fidgeted with his hands, anxiety still gnawing at him. But also, if he was honest, the archangel also started to annoy him. Gabriel always acted as if he was better than everyone, and was quite condescending. Sure, the demons Aziraphale met until today were rude, but at least they never pretended to be something  _ else _ than rude. But Gabriel thought of himself as better while also being intentionally cruel. 

Which actually was an angelic trait, wasn’t it? Righteous anger, holier-than-thou, sanctimonious- there always was a difference between being Good and being good, no? 

Aziraphale filed this train of thought away and looked directly into Gabriel’s cold, purple eyes. He intentionally let go of the tension in himself and said, ‘Well, go on, ask your questions.’

Gabriel narrowed his eyes, let his smile change into something with less teeth and cleared his throat. 

‘Yes. I will-. The first question is: Your name is?’ Gabriel asked as Sandalphon took out a clipboard of the ether and expectantly held a decadent silver fountain pen in his hand.

‘You know my name, Gabriel,’ Aziraphale answered, but then added, ‘Aziraphale.’

Sandalphon wrote far to long for it to just be his name. Aziraphale decided against commenting on it. Gabriel still drilled his stare into him, and with every passing moment it became less intimidating and veered more into the territory of awkward.

‘Your occupation?’

‘Principality, guardian of the eastern gate of Eden and of humanity,’ Aziraphale wondered if the guardian of Eden thing still was accurate – he hadn’t seen the garden ever since the reprimand after the whole apple business, so he wasn’t really guarding it anymore? But the paperwork he got and signed to demote him of this position never got all the necessary signatures, despite Gabriel's best efforts. So Aziraphale assumed that it still was part of his occupation. Sandalphon still was writing unnervingly long.

When he finally finished whatever he was noting down, Gabriel continued, sharp grin now replaced with pure neutrality.

‘Still an angel?’ 

What a heavy question, Aziraphale thought. 

In one of their more glum conversations Crowley and Aziraphale had talked about the whole stop-being-an-angel business. The demon had made it very clear this isn’t something you just miss, like oh, yesterday I fell asleep an angel and this morning I awoke a demon, what an annoyance! No, Falling is something that you are diligently, painfully made aware of. And since Aziraphale couldn’t recall any pools of sulfur and no ripping away of Grace lately, Aziraphale was very sure that he still was an angel.

And he had faith that he will stay one.

‘Yes.’

Gabriel chanced a look at Aziraphale’s aura, but he didn’t actually need to do that to know that it’s true – despite standing against the heavenly host and consorting with a demon, Aziraphale was as angelic as an angel could be. His name even refused to be taken out of the payroll – every time they had tried to erase it, it appeared right again.

Gabriel shook his head. If the Almighty wanted Aziraphale to stay an angel despite all his failings, then it wasn’t for Gabriel to question that. Ineffability, right? Testing Her best, most loyal servants, or something like that.

Gabriel just decided to settle on some good old disdain, and told the barely-angel in front of him, ‘Yes. Surprisingly you’re still an angel. But maybe you should show some respect towards your superiors?’

Aziraphale sighed, looked directly into his eyes and smiled. 

‘I do respect you, Gabriel. But I don’t want to fear you anymore,’ Aziraphale spoke with as much truth as he could muster.

Gabriel couldn’t place the tone in his subordinate’s voice and his eyebrows shot up. The archangel moved his lips which may have read as, ‘You’re afraid of me?,’ and his head slightly cocked to the side, but he quickly recovered and motioned towards Sandalphon who had silently watched the exchange. Within a blink the two disappeared. 

Aziraphale stared some more where the two archangels had stood, then distractedly continued on his way. Why couldn’t Heaven just leave him alone?

Later in the day he arrived back at the cottage he and Crowley shared, their home. A cute building, overgrown with ivy on the outside. Anathema had explained something about damage to the plaster, but Crowley had glared at the plant and hissed, ‘I am sure they won’t damage the wall more than they need to.’ And that was it about this discussion. The inside of the cottage was spacious enough for the both of them, even with thousand of years of possessions. And quite an amount of books. Aziraphale had left a lot of them in his now even more infrequent opened bookshop, but there still were a lot of books in all kind of corners and nooks and horizontal spaces within their shared living space. Just a couple days ago he found a common copy of ‘Thud!’ on the kettle of all places. The kettle! What if the book would have gotten water damaged?!

But still, the cottages’ spaces were a wonderful mix of the two of them – books and plants and minimalism crashing with clutter and comfortable pillows and modern knickknacks and bepop records next to classical vinyls. All this made Aziraphale’s soul soar. 

The demon was sitting in the main room, a black controller with a blue glowing light in hand. On the screen of the television set some character was erratically fighting some beastly beings in very gray surroundings. It looked very hectic. 

‘‘sup, angel?’ Crowley greeted from the couch he was sprawled upon, one leg on the coffee table, while he was pushing the buttons on the controller in precise movements.

Aziraphale stayed for a bit in the doorway, smiling at his demon. Crowley’s hair was disheveled and his face contorted in concentration as he tried to win against the game he was playing. The angel made his way towards the demon on the couch.

‘I bought some jam from the Davies’ one village over. They have such a cute little box with honey on their fence, I really need to show you how precious this is-,’ he sat down next to demon who snorted.

‘Ugh, cute,’ Crowley scrunched up his face. 

‘Oh, don’t tell me you don’t enjoy cute things, like kittens or quaint villages, dear,’ Aziraphale said.

‘I’m a demon, angel. I don’t do cute,’ Crowley answered.

‘If you don’t like cute, then does that mean I’m not cute?’ Aziraphale asked looking like innocence incarnate.

Pressing the buttons on the controller Crowley answered, ‘…You aren’t cute, you’re a bastard, that’s who you are,’ and hastily added after a few seconds, ‘but the good kind of bastard.’

The angel bit his lower lip to keep from laughing. Oh, he could drive this kind of banter to the very edge, but now was no the time! So he disregarded any comments about the demon’s soft streak, there were more pressing matters to discuss.

‘I also met Gabriel today.’

Crowley tensed and as a result of the distraction the screen darkened and ‘YOU DIED’ appeared in blood red lettering over the screen.

‘You alright, angel? He didn’t hurt you did he?’ Crowley tossed the controller away and fussed over his angel, checking whether all limbs were still attached where they should and nothing was bruised. Aziraphale basked a bit in the worried scrutinize of the demon and smiled.

‘No, he didn’t hurt me. Not physically, and-,’ he twisted his wrist out of Crowley’s grip and took the demons face into both of his hands, ‘not otherwise,’ after a small pause he added, ‘and I don’t give a toss what he said.’

Crowley snorted and then looked into Aziraphale’s eyes with clear pride in his eyes. Considering they were immortal beings the passage of time was a bit of a fuzzy thing, and so may have spent either minutes or hours or eternities staring into each others eyes. There was an essential truth the happenings of the last Apocalypse had made clear – their time was limited. It might be the next Apocalypse or the heat-death of the universe, but as Death had said - he will get them all. So, each moment, each second, each Planck time they could spend on earth and with each other was to be savored.

At one point during the evening the demon fell into the angel’s chest and rubbed his cheek on it. 

‘What else did’ya talk about?’

Running his hands through Crowley’s hair, earning a content hum, Aziraphale answered, ‘Gabriel said that they were doing a restructuring, for something – synergy? Holistic something? I think? And about result-driven,’ Aziraphale wrinkled his nose in apprehension.

Crowley started to chuckle into his chest, which fast developed into a deep, heaving laugh. He sat up to look at his angel with mirth in his eyes who eyed him quite suspiciously.

‘I wouldn’t have thought-’ another giggle, which of course wasn’t a giggle, since demons didn’t  _ giggle _ , interrupted him, ‘I didn’t think that Heaven would spring on a demonic invention like that – Although they also really took upon the idea of hoverboards, didn’t they?’

‘Wait,  _ you _ are responsible for corporate speak?!’

The inventor of corporate buzzwords grinned widely at his angel.

Aziraphale shook his head but as the demon fell into his chest again decided to postpone his earlier promise about having some strong words towards the creator of corporate speak. Postponed and filed away.

‘Gabriel talked to me because they were doing a census on all angels. He just asked my name, title and whether I am still an angel.’

‘Why wouldn’t you be? You have more goodness inside of you than all these ten million chucklefucks together,’ Crowley mumbled into Aziraphale’s waistcoat, and the angel felt warm at the statement.

‘Thank you, my dear.’ Aziraphale said and planted a kiss on top the demon’s head.


	5. Anathema‘s and Newt‘s news

-2021, August, Tadfield, UK-

An invitation for tea and scones had the Tadfield crew sitting in the cramped kitchen of Anathema’s (and Newt’s, but her name’s on the contract) cottage. After Armageddon Anathema had decided to stay in the UK and see where her new relationship and these unlikely friendships were going, so she had bought Jasmine Cottage and asked if Newt would like to move in. To go steady, become official, as humans like to say. Newton had stumbled both in words and physically while saying yes. 

So the two had spent the last couple years together, exploring their freedom from prophecies and the like and just been together. She had become an independent contractor, doing freelance witchery and divination while re-catographing the ley-lines Armageddon had disturbed.

Newt still tried his hands on electronics, only occasionally frying their fusebox. 

And now, on a sunny late summer evening where the sun beat down as if it had something to prove, they had called their friends in for a meeting.

It was loud – four teenagers with Opinions, four adults of varying ages and two supernatural beings not for silent company make.

‘No, you’re actually a dork. Not cool the slightest,’ said Anathema grinning at the demon on the other side at the table who in exchange snarled menacingly at her.

‘Oi, careful what you’re saying!’ He leaned over the table which creaked in apprehension.

Newton mumbled something along the lines, ‘I think he’s cool’ which was answered by a grumbled demonic, ‘not helping, dude.’

Aziraphale just wiggled amused in his seat and put down his tea cup. 

‘Well, my dear, I think you’re really  _ nifty _ ,’ he said.

Crowley turned his head to stare at the angel. After a couple of seconds he threw his hands exasperatedly into the air and sat down with a harrumph.

Anathema laughed and grabbed her glass. She hit her silver spoon against it.

‘Can I have your attention?’

The chatter died down and the present beings turned towards her. She in turn put an arm around Newton who looked both nervous and beaming. She smiled and addressed everyone in the room. 

‘We decided to get married,’ she held up her free hand before anyone could comment, ‘And we’re expecting!’

Anathema’s hand moved down and the silence was immediately chased out of the room by excited chatter, now centered and buzzing around the expectant parents. They were assailed by questions – When’s the wedding? How far along? That was fast! Shotgun wedding, eh? (Don’t be rude, dear, Aziraphale scolded) Girl or boy? (Isn’t it too early to put heteronormative expectations on an unborn child?!, Pepper interjected) Do you need helping hands? Do you already have a location? Is it going to be twins? Are siblings planned? – and many more, interspersed with congratulatory well wishes.

And so the midday and evening were talked away, with copious amounts of questions and excited, expectant happiness. 

After the sun had set and the stars were glittering in the always-perfect nights of Tadfield demon and angel left, driving the long way back to their own home. They had turned down the generous offering of the guest bedroom, instead leaving it to the other couple a long way from home, Tracy and Shadwell.

‘Oh, we have to get the perfect gifts for the dear child! What do you think?’ the angel had spent the last half hour babbling excitedly about the grand news.

‘Diapers. Lot’s of them,’ Crowley answered, ‘you won’t believe how full of sh-’

‘Careful!’ Aziraphale yelled and gripped the door handle tightly as Crowley overtook a lorry and barely managed to squeeze into the left lane before being involved in a head-on collision with an oncoming car. 

Aziraphale was sure that one day, in this very car, he will be discorporated of a heart attack, regardless that he didn’t even need a functioning heart.

He smoothed down his clothes. And after getting his breathing in order again, he picked up the conversation about gifts and diapers and asked, ‘How do you know about that?’

‘Warlock, remember?’

‘If I recall correctly, we only started influencing him when he already was five and five-year-olds generally are developed past diapers.’

Crowley grumbled a bit under his breath, then added, ‘I just know, ‘kay.’

‘Wherever from, my dear?’ Aziraphale asked, smiling.

And so they bickered.

And in the dark of the night, just 80 miles from a vintage Bentley barreling down a road two opposing agents were meeting on a bench in St. James park. (No, not  _ that  _ specific bench. Would have been pretty ironic if it were, though.)

The barely disguised, fish-scaled demon Dagon, Lord of the files, Master of torments, sat on the bench, idly thumbing through a blindingly white manila folder. Right next to her an archangel sat, staring at the dark waters of the pond.

‘So, how are the preparations in Asia going?’ Dagon asked as she turned a page around.

‘Very well. We ran into some trouble in Tokyo, but this won’t cost us too much time. Any news from your side?’

Dagon put the pages back into the folder. She said, ‘All according to the plan. Although…’

‘Although?’ Michael asked.

Although, Dagon thought, there are issues, aren’t there, Michael? You see it, don’t you? Us, the cast out and you, working close together? And how Beel-

‘Nevermind. Let’s be off,’ Dagon said and started to get up. No use in giving the enemy more information than necessary. Even if they’re working towards the same goal. 

Michael got up to and cleared her throat. 

‘I was wondering-,’ Michael wondered, ‘the situation in Tokyo might need some more consideration, so I wondered if I could consult you about it over dinner?’

Dagon turned towards her, eyes narrowed. The archangel looked back, lips pressed together, posture straight and unyielding.

‘...Sure, why not.’


	6. Freedom Flies

-2022, January, London, UK-

They had run into each other on accident. Aziraphale had visited London for a book auction and stumbled across a demon who was loitering and littering around the art gallery. Aziraphale frowned at the discarded candy wrappers. He briefly wondered why he had stumbled across the same demon for a second time – although twice is a coincidence, only after three times it becomes a pattern, doesn’t it? 

‘Good day, Beelzebub,’ he greeted the demon and waved away the plastic trash around them.

Beelzebub nodded towards him, a curt downwards movement of their head. 

Aziraphale considered, the last time the prince wasn’t to unpleasant to be around (despite rotted produce, that was just rude. But, demon, they just couldn’t help it, could they?), and if they were planning any trouble, might as well try to get some intel? And what better way to confer with the enemy than via a shared meal! Eating together with someone else was always better than alone – even if that someone was a prince of Hell and had tried to execute his beloved. But, that is no reason to be impolite, right?

Aziraphale asked, ‘There is a café right around the corner, would you like to join me for a cup?’ 

Beelzebub squinted at the angel in front of them, then nodded.

The café was small and warm, but one of the many chain coffee houses which always had the cold detachment of capitalism around them. The smell of coffee beans wafted through the air. The prince got some apples, the only fruit the café sold. Probably some divine sign of irony in that. They also, on suggestion of the angel, ordered a cup of cocoa. 

‘So, what brings you around here?’ Aziraphale asked after taking a few drinks of his own cocoa.

Beelzebub frowned.

‘Work, mozztly. I needed to redirect 10 million demonzz ready for war, so we dezzided on “zztructural changezz”.’ 

Aziraphale filed the similarity of this answer to the one Gabriel had given him away under ‘interesting information’. 

They sighed into his cup full of cocoa. They took a careful sip, then hummed in appreciation of the sickly sweet beverage which warmed and filled them up. Famine must  _ hate _ this drink. 

‘Zzo much paperwork. My hand izz zztill cramping,’ they said.

‘Poor dear,’ Aziraphale uttered which such a sincerity it made Beelzebub’s skin crawl and their frown deepened and they waved the condolences off.

‘Although I do like the zzome of Dagon’zz ideazz on reforming the torture departement, her ideazz are proper hellish.’

‘Oh dear.’ 

_ That _ tone of voice pleased Beelzebub far more.

They took a bite out of their apple. The flesh was hard, hard to sink teeth into and the acidity bordered on too much, so they scrunched their face at it. Scowling they chewed the piece of the fruit, and said, ‘I got dizztracted by the art gallery.’

‘It is quite an impressive building.’

‘Yezz. Took a look around inzzide, and the art, humanzz creating like thizz, reminded me-,’ Beelzebub stopped, interrupting themselves from concluding the sentence.

Aziraphale asked, ‘Do all demons enjoy the fine arts?’

‘We do have a lot of artizztzz down there.’ 

They took a big gulp of cocoa. Conflicting emotions passed their face, twitching their frown in various ways. A fly landed on rim of their mug, walking back and forth, occasionally rubbing its front legs together. Beelzebub mumbled something.

‘Excuse me, I didn’t hear that, could you repeat that?’ Aziraphale asked.

The fly took flight and Beelzebub waved the angel off. 

‘Nevermind. Can I tell you zzomething without you prattling to other demonzz that I talk about,’ vague hand gesture, ‘Zztuff?’

‘Of course! I don’t have contact to other demons, beside you and Crowley. You can trust me.’ 

‘Demonzz don’t truzzt anyone,’ Beelzebub frowned at him amused, ‘But-’, a pause, turning around the mug in their hands, amusement vanishing, ‘I mizz Hell.’

Aziraphale tried to hide his grimace unsuccessfully. 

‘Well, it is your home, after all, so, uh-’

‘I don’t expect you to underzztand. I know Crowley alzzo never wazz particularly fond of it,’ Beelzebub looked out of the window.

‘But everything here izz zzo big. There are no handbookzz, no officezz, no reportzz to read and memozz to ignore. No Zztandard operating prozzedurezz or orderzz. Juzzt,’ they trailed off.

‘Opportunities? Free will?’ Aziraphale guessed their outspoken thought.

Beelzebub stared out of the window, lost in thought. Their hands clenched around the mug. 

After a couple of minutes they turned towards Aziraphale.

‘Earth makezz me th-,’ they interrupted themself with a shake of their head and continued, ‘I alzzo need to hide all my flies.’

One of the mentioned flies landed on their hand. Beelzebub downed the rest of their drink in one gulp and grabbed the apple they had taken a bite out of. The demon scooted their chair back and got up. They looked at the angel next to them. Aziraphale looked back, concern plainly written on his face. 

The prince of Hell and Lord of the Flies tensed their jaw. They nodded towards the principality, then turned to leave.

‘Goodbye, Beelzebub.’

They didn’t look back. A short lift of their hand was the only acknowledgment that they’ve heard the goodbye. 

Then they were gone.

Aziraphale sighed into his cocoa. 

‘Are all demons that emotionally repressed?’ he mumbled and shoved away the mocking laugh of hypocrisy.

A yell from behind the counter reached his ears. 

‘What do you mean  _ All the milk has gone bad? _ ! We just got a new shipment yesterday! Milk doesn’t fucking curdle in a goddamn day!’ 

The angel sent a quick blessing that a new shipment of milk was on its way. Thwarting demonic influence, he reasoned.

As the time progressed so did Anathema’s pregnancy. She had announced at the end of the third trimester, and now, when January gave way to February she was far along. The Them helped her as much as school work allowed them too, as well as her neighbours and of course Newt did. 

It’s adorable, she thought, and a tad annoying, when he hovered around her, making sure she is comfortable.

Although she would never complain about the foot rubs. 

Another wave of unrelenting frost had rolled over the whole European landmass, dragging down the temperature to the double negatives.

The heating in the home in the South Downs was cranked to the highest setting, one occupant being an easily cold, part-time serpent after all. The air was heavy with warmth and the smell of hot mulled wine.

Curled under heavy blankets, clothed in a plush sweater Aziraphale felt slightly feverish. It was a  _ little  _ bit too much. But then he brushed Crowley’s cheek, who sighed, a content, relaxed sound, and couldn’t muster the will to get up to ditch the sweater. He could sit here sweating forever, if needed, his dear deserves- 

The ringing of the phone cut through the warm cottage.

Crowley got up to answer. Now the warmth of the heating and the blankets and his body and the sweater and the lightbulbs and everything just felt oppressive. So Aziraphale got up to, walking behind Crowley.

‘Who’s it?’ Crowley asked into the receiver.

Aziraphale watched his demon listening to the voice on the other hand of the receiver. Suddenly Crowley’s face lit up.

‘It is?! How’s, uh, how’s Anathema?’, he asked.

At the name of their mutual, very pregnant friend, Aziraphale perked up. He tried to make out who was talking on the other side of the phone, but it was to muffled, so he just shuffled closer to Crowley.

‘Hah, knew that she had some witchy tricks up her sleeve,’ Crowley snorted, tone dismissive, but smiling fondly, ‘Uuh, and the kid-?’ 

Aziraphale barely could make out the voice of Newt on the other side of the conversation. 

‘Uh-huh.’ Crowley put his arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders and squeezed, smile growing even wider.

‘Thanks. Treat the two of them well, will ya? Keep in mind, a demon and an angel are watching over the two of ‘em,’ Crowley said, and laughed, ‘Actually, nevermind, over you and the kid, book girl can defend herself well enough.’

After a small moment of listening he said his goodbye, ‘Yeah, best get back to her. Take care.’

Crowley hung up the phone. He was grinning at Aziraphale, a wild, unrestrained thing and put his hands on the angel’s shoulders.

‘Libera’s her name,’ he said.


	7. Something's up and it ain't the sky

-2022, July, London, UK-

Crowley was speeding along London’s streets even more aggressively than he did normally. Clipped vehicles and missed pedestrians by even more of a fraction of an inch. One cyclist made his disdain known in very colorful language while waving his fist towards the rapidly departing car. Crowley was clutching the steering wheel. 

He was strung up tightly, anxiety creeping on the side lines, cheering on.

There was no way around it – more angels and demons were around. He could smell the ozone, sharp metallic cleanness of the today’s Heaven, which angels left when they lightning-d down to earth. And the very varying smells of Hell, most of them reminiscent to either rot or bodily excretions, all accentuated with an unhealthy dose of sulfur and brimstone. These appeared all over the country – and if Heaven and Hell were paying so much attention to an island like the British main island, how much were they paying to the rest of the world? 

Or the hosts of Hell and Heaven were here for their two rogue agents. But would they invest so much being-power into the hunt of the two of them? 

He shook his head. From careful read-overs of various media (from newspapers, tabloids, news shows and ‘news’ shows, gossip and magazines, and of course the Internet) he could see that there were occult and ethereal influences all over the globe. 

Spanish twitter was in a fit about a divine revelation which was inflicted upon two poor sods - one who wandered along the pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela, the other who just wanted to party on Mallorca. On the other hand FOX news was frantically reporting about the demonic evilness of the democratic candidates (although that could just be business as usual, ‘cause y’know. Americans). Many reports in local papers all over the globe of weird people, doing weird stuff, not understanding human customs, creating things out of thin air, speaking tongues, telling people not to be afraid for no reason, weird animal hats taking the fashion world in storm – yeah, no sense in denying. The heavenly and hellish host were all over the world.

So, whatever was happening it was probably in relation to the failed Apocalypse. Maybe they were trying to manipulate humanity into another direction? Although if they were trying that, they were really fucking incompetent at that. Crowley was vaguely offended – did he really write so many forsaken reports on human behavior and how to influence them just to have them ignored?! Even Hastur managed to be subtle enough to not end up in a newspaper report!

Still ruminating in his thoughts, Crowley pulled up in front of the best tailors of London, parking wherever. After turning off the ignition he took some minutes to calm down from the anxious thoughts swirling in his head and tried recall why he drove into London on his own without his angel.

Newton had worried out loud about his wedding tuxedo and Crowley decided to interfere. Well, no, Aziraphale had decided to interfere and then puppy-dog-eyed Crowley onto the errand. ‘You have a car, my dear, it would be faster if you went’ and ‘Newton has to watch the little one, you know.’ and ‘I have to help Anathema to find a suitable location.’ and ‘You drive so fast, it’s no time at all, darling.’ And like the sap Crowley was he went with minimal whining. Who was supposed to be the tempter here? Some fearsome demon he was.

He entered the store and immediately faced his second least favorite being in existence.

Which was quite the feat, considering which atrocities he had witnessed over the long, long years he was alive. The list of sapient-beings-I-hate was long. Very long.

Crowley debated to just turn around and collect the tuxedo later, but the Archangel was faster and turned around.

‘Well, would you look at that. Demon Crowley.’ He greeted, formulation of his words cordial and the tone dripping with hatred.

‘The one and only.’ Crowley opened his arms in a ‘it’s how it is, isn’t it?’ gesture and drawled, ‘Sooo, what’cha doing here?’ 

‘That doesn’t concern you,  _ demon _ ,’ Gabriel answered.

Venomous serpent he was, Crowley was actually a bit impressed how Gabriel managed to compress so much scathing venom into one small, five letter word. This sentence put the archangel right on the same level of an annoyed, hungry coral snake.

The demon raised his hands in a placating gesture. 

‘I’m not here to create trouble. Just need to get an order for a friend, then I’ll be on my way.’

‘Since when do  _ demons _ have friends?’ Gabriel asked, in a way that may also have been ‘Since when do objects have friends?’.

‘Since forever? Hastur and Ligur always were tight,’ Crowley answered, ‘And it’s not that angel’s got friends either – and no, I’m not talking about your circle full of yes-men.’ 

Gabriel looked deliciously offended at that, lifted his hand and pointed a shaking finger towards the demon. But before he could find the words to answer he was interrupted by a human voice.

‘Please do not bicker in my store, sirs-’ the human who stepped out of back stopped when she saw who was in her store.

‘Gabriel,’ she whispered, her face was so soft and full of adoration, ‘What can I do for you?’

Gabriel turned towards her, placating smile on his face.

Crowley immediately definitely recognized the emotions, he was far too acquainted with, written plain as day on the tailor’s face and suddenly felt a deep sympathy for her. That pining, reverent look. Poor lass.

Crowley stepped next to the angel and jabbed an elbow into his side. Gabriel shot him a look which would have discorporated any lower demon.

‘Talk to me outside when you're done, will you?’ Crowley whispered to Gabriel and then sauntered outside. 

Gabriel shook his head and then turned back to the tailor to get on with what they set out to do – to get a new button down shirt and a suit jacket. As an angel he needed to look his best at all times and look like the humans right on top of society, of course.

Same as always the tailor showed him the different options regarding fabric and color before taking measurements.

Gabriel stepped out of the tailor’s store, satisfied. He was in such a good mood that he even has forgotten the demon he had met before.

‘She likes you’, Crowley said. He was leaning next to the door of the tailor, sunglassed eyes staring ahead.

Gabriel morphed his face into vague disappointment.

‘Of course she likes me. I am the archangel Gabriel, everybody loves me.’

Crowley shook his head. 

‘No. People don’t like you. They are terrified of you. Angel, human, whoever. ‘cept for her, apparently.’ 

The demon moved from the place where he was leaning on the wall.

‘I’ll bet that even your fellow archangels don’t like you and just are around ‘cause they have to.’

‘Consider that bet lost,’ Gabriel exclaimed, violet eyes piercing, but the demon just smiled at him, as if he knew something the archangel didn’t, and disappeared into the shop. Gabriel turned around and returned to Heaven, not sparing one more thought towards tailors or infuriating demons or rogue angels.


	8. The proposal

-2022, November, Cottage in South Downs, UK-

Crowley was nervous. Not that this was a new thing, he basically lived with some pretty high anxious background radiation since forever (well, since the Fall), but this was different. A good kind of nervousness. The one you get when you wait for the grade for an exam you did well. The anticipation of a lover’s kiss. Something like that.

He pawned the small box in his pocket to find some peace, but it only made his heart flutter. The failed Armageddon three years behind them and the clever deception of Heaven and Hell - he thought that they would have had all time in the world to navigate the new autonomy of the world and their relationship. Or, at least, that they could take all the time they need to just  _ be _ . But all those sightings of angels and demons, high-ranking ones at that, made Crowley nervous.

Something was afoot. And whatever it was, it spelled trouble and will happen a lot sooner than Crowley wanted. Because three years of happiness, that was just too much, wasn’t it?

So Crowley decided, since they had lost enough time over the last 6000 years of plausible deniability and always checking their backs, that it was the moment to take the next step. He wanted to be with Aziraphale as long his angel would have him and to show the world what they were.

Anathema and Newt had inspired him, since those two wanted to marry next year in the summer.

  
  


Just a week before, Anathema had asked Crowley to help her with deciding on the flower arrangements. He tried to brush her off, that his expertise layed with non-flowering leafy plants, but she insisted.

She opened her cottage door before he could even knock, the little squirming Libera in her arms.

‘Oh, you’re here! Take her, please, I really need to take a shower and Newt’s been out for the whole day,’ Anathema said before Crowley could even utter any greetings. She held out the little Libera and Crowley took her without hesitating.

Anathema rushed back inside. 

Libera looked at him with blue eyes, curiously, not one ounce of fear.

‘Well, aren’t you just like your mother?’ Crowley asked, stepping inside, ‘I wonder if you inherited your dad’s effect on electronics.’

He shifted the child and poked her nose. She giggled, than fixed his face again.

‘Don’t look at me like that, I know what you want and you’re not getting it,’ Crowley said.

Libera babbled.

‘Although those are some compelling arguments,’ he said.

Libera reached up, touching his face. Her hands were sticky.

‘Alright, at your own risk, y’hear?’

Crowley took of his glasses.

Libera giggled and squealed happily.

Anathema came back into the room, feeling relaxed and clean. Her hair was still wet and she was dressed in comfortable clothes.

She paused at the door and watched a bit as a demon rocked her child. Libera was fast asleep and Crowley hummed a Lullaby.

Anathema walked and sat next to him. 

‘You know,’ she started, ‘Sure, having a baby is a gift, of course, but your free and couple’s time really suffers.’

‘What’re playing at, book girl?’

Anathema grinned, ‘It’s so long since I spent an evening with Newt alone, but if I had a trustworthy babysitter…’

Crowley stared at her and snorted, ‘Trustworthy -, you’re unbelievable, book girl. But if you can’t find a babysitter I guess I can look after her until you find one.’

Anathema grinned, too. She stroked her sleeping child’s head.

‘Book- Anathema,’ Crowley started, ‘Uh. I have a question, I guess.’

‘Shoot,’ Anathema answered.

Crowley stared at the baby in his arms. 

‘I’ve been thinking ‘bout marriage. Why do you want to marry Pulsifer?’

Anathema hummed as she thought about the question. 

Dust danced in the sun beams. The table was cluttered under her instruments, wedding magazines, electronic parts. Libera twitched in her sleep.

Anathema smiled.

‘I was a descendent all my life until the end of the world. And when it passed, I… I was lost. And Newt - even though he was angry at Agnes, too, that he was set up for this whole thing,’ she waved her hand, ‘He still helped me to find my way. And he never pushed me to be something that I didn’t want to be. When the pregnancy test came back positive, I realized, that I want to be with him forever.’ 

She laughed, ‘Or as long as he wants to stick around.’

Her eyes glittered and her smile was wide, serene.

‘Why you’re asking?’ she asked, already knowing the answer.

‘Eh. Just ‘cause,’ he answered, ‘So, y’want to do a hand-fasting ceremony, how’s that work?’

Anathema had pushed for a double wedding, but Crowley declined. He didn’t even know if Aziraphale would say yes (okay, he had a good guess that the angel would) and he knew that he would want a day just for the two of them (and Crowley didn’t want to intrude on Anathema’s wedding, but of course couldn’t say that outright, that’s unbecoming of a demon. Anathema knew, nonetheless.) 

But she made clear, that her and Newt would have no problem with them having a wedding in the same year. Not that Crowley cared about that.

But before any wedding planning could take place, something else had to happen. 

And this something else was Crowley’s current predicament. He was nervous. He had planned around fifty-five point seven ways how to proceed; from grand declarations of love while having a picnic on the moon together with all their friends to just chucking the ring at the angel’s head and running away to sleep a month or ten; but nothing he thought of was the level of  _ perfect _ his angel deserved. Nothing will  _ ever _ reach the level of perfect Aziraphale deserved. Heav-, Hel-,  _ Somewhere _ , even the Almighty wouldn’t be able to help come up with a proposal perfect enough for Aziraphale.

I’m a fucking sap, Crowley thought and didn’t even try to admonish himself for that.

So, Crowley decided to disregard all plans and to do his best - to just wing it.

Grand idea, that, he thought sarcastically, as stood and looked at his angel.

Crowley cleared his throat. 

‘Angel.’

Aziraphale smiled at his pet name. He had spent the last couple hours re-reading an old favorite and immediately turned to the demon standing some feet away from him. ‘Yes, my dear?’

‘Here, catch.’ Crowley tossed a small box towards him with feigned nonchalance but blushed fiercely.

‘Oh, what’s this?’ Aziraphale asked as he turned the small box around, feeling the soft dark blue velvet.

‘Open it.’

Inside, bedded in fine, light blue silk, was a simple brushed gold ring. Inset in it was a small, dark stone, glittering like the sea at a clear, full moon night.

‘Oh, what a beautiful ring! What is it for?’

Crowley shot him a Look TM and said, ‘You bloody well know what a ring in a velvet box is for, angel.’

‘So, whose is it? Anathema’s? It’s so nice dear, that you volunteered to keep her ring safe,’ Aziraphale asked innocently. 

‘What? No, it’s not Anathema’s! Why for somebody’s sake would she give me her ring?’ Crowley asked.

‘For safekeeping?’

Crowley rubbed his temples and said, ‘No, it’s from me.’

‘So, who is the lucky person you got it for? Do I know them?’ Aziraphale asked.   
‘Do you- Of course you bloody well know them, who do you think I’m going to propose to-,’ Crowley stopped as the angel couldn’t keep the charade up anymore and started beaming wide, a mischievous glint in his eye.

‘Oh, you  _ bastard. _ ’

Chuckling Aziraphale took the ring out of the small box and closed it. He got up and stepped towards his seething demon. He took Crowley’s left hand into his free onw and lifted it to brush a kiss across the knuckles. Crowley’s heart skip a beat despite him being utterly peeved.

‘Yes, my dear. I will marry you,’ Aziraphale answered the unasked question. His smile could have lightened up half of the London tube. 

‘I want to spent the rest of eternity with you at my side, as your husband,’ Aziraphale said.

The expression on Crowley’s face could have taken care of the rest of the tube’s lighting. He took the ring out of Aziraphale’s hand and carefully slipped it on his angel’s finger.

They stared for a while at their hands.

Crowley lurched forward, kissing Aziraphale fervently, pouring six thousand years of love into it. And Aziraphale kissed right back.


	9. Rambling in a forest about philosophy

-2023, late summer, some forest next to fields, UK-

Restlessness had taken Crowley on a drive on streets windingly cutting through the agriculturally used lands of the United Kingdom, driving everywhere and nowhere. He had asked his angel to tag along, but Aziraphale had declined, citing some organisational reasons regarding their wedding and Crowley had let it go. The landscape passed in a blur, Freddie Mercury singing through the speakers, sunlight dancing through the canopy over the street. 

He drove along, taking lefts and rights whenever it caught his fancy, for some hours.

A small parking place with a trail leading through the forest caught his eye, so he pulled over. After stopping the Bentley, he got out. He laid a gentle hand on the car’s hood. 

A light breeze weaved between the tree trunks, roamed through the needles and leaves, tousled a demon’s copper-red hair. 

Crowley took off onto the trail. Trees and dry ferns, various ground covering plants clinging to life and mosses were covering every inch just beside the parched, foot-worn path. Now and then a felled tree gave nourishment to small mushrooms and light to ambitious young trees.

He stopped next to a birch, at the edge of the forest, overlooking a wheat field.

‘Who do you think will win the war?’ Crowley asked leaning against a tree.

A second demon was standing two arms length from him, at the other side of the tree, frowning at nothing.

The summer sun was beating down and another warm breeze trailed through the forest and through the golden stalks in front of them, causing ocean-like waves in the field. Harvest season will be soon. And hopefully rain – climate change was not kind towards the European nature. 

Beelzebub pondered the question. 

‘Probably no one. We will all zzlaughter each other and then one of the Zzeraphim, or Michael, or Zzatan will be left other, and everyone’zz dead. Ten million againzzt ten million, zzeemzz even.’

Crowley gave a thinking sound and said, ‘Seems about right. So, why exactly is Hell so… hellbent on having this war? Stupidity?’

Beelzebub tssk-ed and answered, ‘You know the propaganda, Crowley. And zzome even believe it. That we’ll get back to them for the Fall. And zzome juzzt want to rip apart and feazzt on angelzz – don’t grimace, you  _ know _ Hazztur – and zzome think that’zz the meanzz of an end, the ultimate punishment. And probably even more reazzonzz we’ve fed to them and forgot about.’

‘So, basically -’ Crowley trailed off while staring at a farmer’s tractor who was driving along his field, kicking up dry, yellow-brown clouds of dust, ‘But, there are many ways to reach revenge or rage or redemption or r-’

‘Zztop your alliterative nonzzenzze.’

Beelzebub stood unmoving, eyes also tracking the same tractor. Their matted black hair slightly moved in the wind and the red sash across their chest fluttered.

‘What’s your reason?’ Crowley asked.

And while their body was unmoving, some of their flies were buzzing erratically around, landing on the hidden rot of the trees, animals and fungi. Unchangeable pieces of nature, death, to feed the new life. Beelzebub thought.

‘There izz no choizze – War izz called, zzo war will happen. We can’t ezzcape God’zz plan, even if you and your angel think you did.’

Their face and body language were like stone, and Crowley suddenly understood where the various connotations of ‘petrified’ came from.

He picked on some bark of the tree they were next to – a relatively young birch, the trunk still a thin white thing with small spots of black and the plant full of eagerness to earn their place.

‘How’re you so sure that this is the ‘plan’?’ he asked, turning around a piece of bark between his fingers, ‘It’s supposed to be  _ ineffable _ , after all.’

Beelzebub shrugged.

‘Who knowzz? God’zz not talking to uzz demonzz. But thizz plan wazz alwayzz known, right from the beginning, wazzn’t it? Even before we Fell – one great War where Evil will be dezztroyed by the forcezz of Good, etzzetera.’ 

Beelzebub waved their hand dismissively. 

‘Y’know, I don’t really buy it, that this is the plan, after all. Or even-,’ Crowley took a breath and leaned in, conspiringly, ‘Or,’ his voice barely was above a whisper, ‘that there is a plan, after all.’

Crowley moved back, watching Beelzebub’s reaction.

The lord of the Flies turned around and stared, eyes wide, at Crowley. Flies began buzzing around them in distress.

Bullseye, Crowley thought.

‘Of course there izz a plan! Otherwizze why would we have been Fallen? Why would we influenzzze the human zzoulzzzz? Zzzzztrive for an unwinnable war?!’ 

The buzzing was getting stronger with each word, flies whipping around them. ‘We- becauzzzzz we-!’ The summer breeze moved, unfazed, the corn swayed. Flies were whipping around, only landing for a clock’s tick before taking off again. The sun’s rays beat down. 

Despite being faced with a distressed prince of Hell, Crowley felt surprisingly calm. He mused, just a short time ago a situation like this would have left him scrambling for explanations, excuses and winding like a, well, snake.

Crowley leaned against the young birch, shoulders slumped down and he flicked away the piece of bark he had picked of the tree.

Flies whirled around them, like how the wind whipped around the eye of a storm. 

Crowley said, ‘The existence of some definitive plan would be diametrically opposed to the existence of free will, wouldn’t it? ‘n at least humans are supposed to have free will,’ he paused, ‘...aren’t they?’

Things were changing. He  _ knew _ this prince of Hell, lord Beelzebub, demon of gluttony, yadda yadda. He was an employee in their departement long enough. He knew the emotionally detached, cold, hateful fly they were. And he  _ had _ seen them in the last couple three years and noticed the shift; the level of detachment and their face ever frowning, those were the same, but neither were accompanied by the usual cold indifference.

Nevertheless, they were still dangerous and could discorporate him without really trying, so he had to be careful where he poked his questions.

But. Crowley never really knew when to stop asking questions, did he? That had gotten him into all this mess, after all.

Something, probably connected to Aziraphale and him and Adam and humanity and the world and the failed end of said world had impacted Beelzebub. Even without the loud exclamations via body language he was used from the humans, he could read what they were communicating.

Doubt.

Beelzebub scowled deeper. A couple of moments they seemed that they had so say something, but in the end they deflated. The flies landed and the air was clear. 

Only the sounds of earth’s nature remained.

‘We don’t have free will, Crowley.’

‘Sure ‘bout that?’ he said, adding a dramaturgically very important pause, ‘Even knowing the consequences I stood against the “plan” and  _ Hell _ and Heaven. Just for the world and for Aziraphale. D’you really think that that wasn’t part of my free will? I could have fucked off anytime, but I stayed, because  _ I chose to _ . So if I, some low level demon, can have free will, so why wouldn’t you, too?’

‘That’zz- Even if- The Plan- I- I want,- It’zz not that eazzy,’ Beelzebub tried.

‘Or are you telling me that those lashings weren’t your choice? That my holy water punishment wasn’t your judgement? That you didn’t decide anything  _ at all _ on the way along to the failed Apocalypse? Are you telling me, that you’re standing right here, with a traitor in some fucking forest, is not an expression of your and mine free will? Or is the Almighty whispering directly into your ear, that you should do these things? Because if She is, I’d like to have a word with Her,’ Crowley accentuated those last words with a jab of his finger and quirked a corner of his mouth. It did not look like amusement at all.

Beelzebub looked panicking and pained and they said, slightly overwhelmed, ‘I- I didn’t want Armageddon to fail-’

‘What you  _ want _ has nothing to do with free will, only what you fucking do. Otherwise I would still be in Heaven, chewing everybody’s ear off with questions and complaints. Nobody cared how much I didn’t  _ meant to _ ,’ his voice got louder with each word, ‘Nobody ever cares how much you don’t  _ mean _ to. Eve didn’t want to be kicked out of Eden too, but because I hissed some poor excuses in her ear she was,’ Crowley yelled. 

He took a deep breath and continued at low volume, ‘And humanity does a lot of questionable shit because of their  _ free will _ .’

Crowley shook his head. He took some steps to stand in front of Beelzebub and looked into their eyes.

‘Urgh. Listen, I’m not telling you to become like me, or asking you to never have your fucking war – no, scratch that, I’m definitely asking you to never have that war – I’m only telling you that your decisions are yours.’

Beelzebub stared back into the dark glasses, seeing their own reflection. Their own, sunken eyes, pupils shrunken in terror, stared back in the reflection, darting from left to right. Angels, demons, humanity, free will, the Fall, decisions- 

Why had they Fallen? 

Hell was awful, but easy. Just do what you have to. Hurt others and take care of the paperwork. Hurting is what they’re supposed to, right? Demon, right? But--- Crowley was a demon too, wasn’t he?

An old memory was scratching on the corner of their consciousness, but retracted when they tried to observe it, swiping like a feral cat. Before the Fall- everyone of the Fallen had a reason, a judgement, something unforgivable. They had it too – and it wants to be known. But- Beelzebub couldn’t grasp it right now.

Instead they said, ‘Free will izz a grave burden, Crowley.’ 

And they meant the complete opposite.

‘Yeah,’ he gave a half-hearted smile and a shrug, ‘I know.’

After a quick glance on his phone to see the time he added, ‘It’s nearly time for lunch. Wanna join?’

They looked at him for a moment, then nodded.

The two demons started walking towards the street where the Bentley parked peacefully. 

Dark grey clouds bunched up on the horizon, telling of a storm. The farmer finished inspecting his fields. Heavy drops hit the street, petrichor rose.

Times are changing.


	10. The wedding

-2023, early autumn, a pretty meadow, UK-

The ceremony of the two beings was small, just their closest friends. The weather was made sure to be clear, fluffy clouds dotting the piercingly blue sky and a slight breeze flew through the air. They stood in front of an apple tree on the grass, faced by white chairs where the guests sat. The meadow was surrounded by trees, most still green, but some already in their autumnal colors.

Anathema was acting as the officiant, weaving a heavy, dark purple, glittering silk band around their hands - a ceremony to bind two souls a complete human way.

The other guests listened to her ceremonial words. Newt, now Newton Device, held the squirming, babbling and giggling Libera in his arms. Madame Tracy, Shadwell, Adam and the Them were present as well as Warlock and Harriet Dowling (and a bodyguard of them on stand-by). Madame Tracy discreetly dabbed at her eyes as the two supernatural beings were saying their vows as their hands and souls were officially bound to each other.

The angel, being his well-read eloquent self, had written a carefully crafted text, talking about their history and his regrets and about the future he wished for them.

The demon in contrast stammered heartfelt words interrupted by various consonant combinations not reproducible by human tongue.

And each of those pledges to each other were beautiful in their own right. And everyone in the ceremony would deny afterwards that the demon had cried heavy tears.

A short distance away of the meadow the only invited demon was standing behind a tree, eyes closed and listening to the music and soft chatter. Beelzebub was sure that the angel’s cloyingly sweet vows could be used to cause hyperglycemia. Which was far less embarrassing than their ex-employee who started crying halfway through his speech and stammered through the rest, ending in sobbed I love you’s, I loved you since Eden, please, please don’t leave.

As a demon, Beelzebub wasn’t able to feel other’s love, but they were definitely able to feel desperation.

The couple kissed, some of the humans sobbed, the very small human gurgled happily, the kids cheered, the dark-haired woman nodded knowingly.

Beelzebub watched the leaves of the trees swaying. Just some months ago – such a short time in the life of an immortal – they would have marched right over to this display of vulnerability of one of their agents and made an example of them. What kind of demon trusted someone else? What kind of demon cried? What kind of demon  _ loved _ ? 

Just a few months ago they would have tortured any demon who dared to express any of those emotions, without doubt, without hesitation. They knew, because they did. And yet, now they were standing here, behind this tree, hearing a demon stumbling through a declaration of eternal  _ love _ towards an  _ angel _ .

But- Today was today. And every day on this strange molten rock of metal and stone they had spent have had changed them. More than they ever had in a thousand years in the dank basement of Hell.

More than during their timeless existence in Heaven.

How curio-

‘So the two traitors indeed got married.’ 

The sudden voice of the archangel Michael derailed their thoughts, freezing everything that didn’t pertain survival.

Beelzebub shrugged their shoulders, seemingly unaffected by the sudden appearance of a high ranking, dangerous angel.

‘A mockery of holy matrimony,’ Michael said, glowering.

Beelzebub didn’t even need to focus on Michael to feel her waves of Sin; Wrath which was a basic part of her even Before, some Pride and… a lot of Envy?

Huh. They turned to the angel and stared into her face.

Even though Beelzebub was away from Hell, they had kept in touch with the various newspapers – The Infernal Times, The Betrayer, The Sun – and all the memos and whatever gossip managed to reach them. So they knew how much time a certain archangel spent around and in Dagon’s office – an archangel loitering around the office of a lord of Hell unharmed – this had caused some waves in the Hellish circles. And considering Dagon’s curt reports – maybe they should pay a visit to the Lord of the files. Just to make sure that everything was kept  _ professional _ .

Michael’s had tried to paint her voice in coats of revulsion, but knowing the hellish gossips Beelzebub saw that there was something else and kept their eyes on the archangel.

Michael wasn’t fazed by the intense stare. Things like blinking and polite avoidance of eye contact weren’t really known in the heavenly host, or the demonic for that matter, so she held the gaze of the prince of the Hell.

‘So, it’s true? You’ve got an invitation?’ Michael asked.

Beelzebub diverted some more demonic intensity into their stare.

‘Yezz,’ they said and after a breath neither of the two needed to take, added, ‘haven’t you?’

Michael's carefully set her face between apathy, disgust and disdain. She tried to put the same into her voice, but she just landed at  _ very _ annoyed and said, ‘No, no one in Heaven has.’

‘Not that we would have attended, mind you,’ she added hastily.

Beelzebub crooked their head, surprised at that. They had expected that Crowley would invite no ethereal or occult being, so their own invitation had come as a surprise. And knowing the current situation, and especially the angel in question, they had expected that the angel would have at least invited one of the archangels. An angel would make sure to keep everything balanced towards the side of Good. Although this angel was marrying a demon. But-

Their musings were suddenly interrupted by a realization. 

Narrowing their eyes they glared at Michael.

‘How do you know that I wazzz invited?’ they asked, buzzing.

Michael stayed silent.

There were various ways how Heaven had gotten information regarding the wedding guests – one of the grooms bragging about who they’ve invited (unlikely), the other guests telling (even more unlikely), or… ‘Zzomebody interzzzepted my mail.’

Michael just smirked smugly. Beelzebub ground their teeth, flies buzzing around them. 

Michael started talking about something. 

Beelzebub didn’t listen. Someone under their command, some underling, some inferior  _ creature _ had defied their superiority and gave their personal mail to the hereditary enemy-

And they exactly knew  _ who _ . Six thousand years of working side by side. Fires of Wrath danced beneath their skin, burning in its familiar pathways, whispering to just rip out every feather of the archangel and then torture the traitors and then to color the grass in their blood and then rip out every one of Dagon’s scales 

and -

and -

and -

Beelzebub stared at the decision in front of them.

Torture, Blood, Death. Six thousand years of it. That’s what they knew, what they wanted. They enjoyed it, no sense in denying. Screaming, pain, breaking others.

They  _ did _ like to torture the demons like the one just six meters from them, the demon dancing arm in arm with an angel. ...Did they?

And… all these times they could have… not done that. Done differently - comforted him. Or hugged him. Or talked to him. Or force him to do things. Or leave him alone. Or yell or talk or rip him apart or torture him or kill him.

So many paths. It was their decision. It is their decision. It always was.

Free will.

Huh.

Michael was still talking when Beelzebub ripped in a breath of air. They bent over and grabbed the tree they were next to. Their body was heaving violently and the wood splintered under their grasp as they retched, their body trying to purge something blighted. 

Between heaves Beelzebub gasped for air, despite normally not bothering with breathing. Black rot marked the tree and the ground at their feet, burning into the living matter around it. The archangel had stopped talking and stared disgusted, maybe even concerned. 

Beelzebub expelled short, panting breaths. The pitch black, tarry matter burned in their throat and mouth. The flies around them buzzed agitated.

‘Ate zzzomething from a church food pantry, pr’bly was too holy,’ Beelzebub pressed out between breaths, wiping their hand across their mouth.

Michael just wrinkled her brows in disgust and muttered, ‘Suits you right’ under her breath. And some distinct part of Beelzebub’s consciousness whispered, there are beings who would care.

Beelzebub chased these thoughts away and straitened their posture, taking in another deep breath.

Focus on the situation, they thought. Whatever just happened now could be dealt with later. Somebody intercepted their mail. It wasn’t personal. Probably. A prince of Hell on earth, finding enough affection to get mail from a traitor. And the forces of Hell trying to find a weakness. Business as usual.

Business as usual.

Beelzebub forced their corporation under control. 

‘Zzemzz I have zzome inzzubordination to deal with.’

Michael, the warrior she was, managed to both pay attention to Beelzebub’s words, their tone of voice and the black rot burning it’s way into the birch tree.

‘Yeah, weak leadership leads to uppity employees,’ she commented offhandedly while watching the tendrils of Evil growing slower each passing second.

‘Zzpeaking from experienzze?’ Beelzebub joked, then added seriously, ‘I ought to deal with thizz.’

Satisfied that the spread stopped and only corrupted part of the ground and tree, Michael turned her whole attention to Beelzebub, eyes squinting. 

‘What will Hell think? That the second highest in command is apparently in good enough  _ graces _ with the rogue agents that they are invited to their  _ wedding _ .’ 

Even still focused in taking in breaths of air, Beelzebub recognized pretty easily when somebody was trying to manipulate them – they were the upper manager of Crowley too long for that. And if you wanted to get to and stay at the top of the hellish food chain you needed to be able to recognize and deal with various aggravations. Regarding the circumstances, they decided to not to answer and to stay silent.

Michael continued after a short time, after it became clear that Beelzebub wasn’t countering, ‘So, why are you invited?’

Beelzebub shrugged. ‘Zztupidity? Who in their right mind invitezz a prince of Hell?’

Michael glanced at the pair in the field who were slowly swaying to some music, foreheads touching, eyes focussed at each other. The humans were at the table with refreshments or danced with each other. The Antichrist was huddled together with some other young humans.

At one point the rogue angel said something towards the demon, just something short. Of course Michael had felt the love when she had appeared next to the meadow, it was hardly subtle. But the wave that came after whatever the angel had said made her flinch. She would like to pretend that this came from the humans - or even the Antichrist, or maybe Aziraphale, that misguided angel. But she knew exactly where that love came from. She knew that to her very being; her being with all its frayed edges and white brass-mended breaks, from where it started and where it ended. She gritted her teeth and grounded herself.

Denial was just a big part of an angel.

She recited the truths she knew - a demon’s can’t love (they can’t), a war has to happen, the angels - no, the remain- the archangels are correct and Good. Divine Truths.

Michael scoffed, ‘Sure. Stupidity. I suppose that’s true. Aziraphale never was known for his intelligence, daft Principality. Tragedy that he didn’t die.’

Beelzebub frowned their version of a smirk. Here they were, an archangel lusting for blood and prince of Hell having revelations. What is this world coming to?

Beelzebub asked, ‘Are you enviouzz?’ An amused glint played in their eye, ‘You are! Enviouzz that a literal prince of Hell izz invited, but not one of your folkzz, aren’t you?’

‘I am not envious, envy is a sin,’ the archangel answered, miffed, ‘I don’t have time for this, I have work to do.’ 

‘What, now that you’re in the defenzzive you’re juzzt gonna fuck off?’

And as fast Michael had appeared she disappeared.

After a couple of seconds Beelzebub started moving towards the small festivities on the field. The black bile had stopped burning in their throat. The sun warmed their skin. The grass was swaying in the wind and nobody paid them mind.

‘Hello,’ they greeted the couple who were standing a little aside of the dancing, drinking champagne.

‘Beelzebub, you came! Did work delay you?’ the angel asked smiling. He was glowing, both metaphorically and literally. His glow was burning their skin a bit, like the midday summer sun.

‘No, I watched from the treezz over there.’ 

They broadly gestured to from where they had wandered over. Aziraphale knitted his brows.

‘But why? You were invited for the whole affair.’

Beelzebub weighted their options and decided to settle on the truth. Neither of them were going to prattle to someone who could mean trouble.

‘I wazz unzzure whether my presenzze would be dizzturbing, so I decided to obzzerve from the dizztance.’

Before any of the two could answer, they continued, ‘It wazz the correct decision, becauzze Michael decided to drop by.’ 

With this the previous conversation was successfully derailed.

‘What-? What did she want?’ Aziraphale asked, twiddling with his glass of champagne.

‘Mozztly she wazz offended that she wazzn’t invited.’

Crowley snorted.

‘Seems right about that pompous ass.’

They stood in a surprising comfortable silence, the past considered.

‘Wait, no gift?’ Crowley asked.

Beelzebub looked at Crowley puzzled, ‘Gift?’

‘Yeah, it’s customary that the wedding guests give the couple a gift. Otherwise why invite guests?’ Crowley answered.

‘Crowley! Because you want to spent the happiest day of your life with the people you care about!’ Aziraphale tried to scold.

‘The happiest day of your life?’ Crowley whispered, eyebrows high over his glasses, expression lovestruck.

Beelzebub felt a bit nauseous.

‘Wait, I know you,’ A voice sounded behind the three and they turned around. Adam looked at Beelzebub curiously. The former Antichrist had grown tall and gangly, but hadn’t lost his cherubim-like face. Which actually wasn’t really that cherubim-like as it did not strike terror in the hearts of mortals. But he retained a soft youthfulness, piercing blue eyes and his round face was framed by full, loose, dark oak colored curls.

‘You’re the other guy from back then, Tadfield? Armageddon day? You were next to the dude who looked like an American news anchor.’

‘Yezz. I am-,’ they interrupted themselves to think about how to introduce themselves, ‘I am Beelzebub.’ No need for fanfare.

‘You tried to pressure me to start Armageddon.’

‘Yezz, that’zz true,’ they shrugged, ‘I am not going to apologizze. Demonzz don’t apologizze.’

‘Crowley does, sometimes, in quite roundabout ways,’ Aziraphale interrupted.

‘Well, Crowley alzzo turned into a traitor.’

‘Aw, don’t ruin my reputation, angel.’

Aziraphale and Crowley started to bicker.

The Antichrist stared at Beelzebub. His eyes cut through them as he Knew them. It felt disconcerting for them, like being cut open while on considerable amounts of painkillers. It didn’t hurt, but you were very aware that somebody was rummaging around your organs.

Then the feeling was gone as suddenly as it had appeared and the Antichrist was just a human boy again.

He waved Beelzebub off, ‘Non-apology accepted.’

Beelzebub looked at the Anti- the former Antichrist and felt very off. They said, ‘I’ll take my leave-’

Crowley interrupted his silly bickering with his husband and said, ‘Your dis-, uh. Beelzebub. You’re- Uh, If you want to visit, you could. Our cottage, that is. But send a message first, I guess. And stop rotting our food.’

Beelzebub decided not to dwell on the mess of feelings inside of them. Having feelings other than gleeful sadism and burning hatred was quite unbecoming of a demon, after all. And they were confused. But they still nodded at what Crowley had said, then turned around and left.

Aziraphale threw a look to the catering table, where the cake and the various platters full of fruits, meats and cheeses stood undisturbed. Adam smiled brightly showing all of his teeth. He turned around and walked back to his friends who were in a deep argument with that american kid.

Aziraphale took Crowley’s hands in his own and smiled.


	11. Intermission 1

-2023 to 2024, winter-

Uriel wandered through the pristine white halls of heaven. Outside the tall windows the human’s greatest buildings stood in their glory.

An angel hurried towards her, holding a clipboard.

‘Archangel Uriel, I need a signature for…’

She barely managed to listen. 

She was tired. 

Uriel managed to get the gist of what was needed to be signed and put her name on it.

The angel rushed off as fast as they had appeared.

She sighed and continued on her way. 

Another angel walked towards her.

He yelled something, about the war. He was worried.

‘Do not worry. You have your place in Her plan,’ she tried to soothe, ‘Remember your faith.’ 

It was barely effective. 

The angel stomped off.

Uriel wished that Gabriel and Michael were there.

She was very tired.

Loud crashes sounded out of Dagon’s office, which was strange. She made sure to keep her torturing away from the file system - the blood was impossible to get out of the paper.

‘Fuck you, you feathered asshole!’ 

The door burst open and a desk flew through it.

‘I am just stating the truth, _ Demon _.’

‘You’re stating that you’re a hypocrite, _ Angel _.’

Malphas groaned. He had just finished repairing this door.

Newt sat with Libera, reading her a book. A fairy tale compilation Aziraphale had recommended and Anathema had approved.

He was reading a slightly disturbing story to her when she suddenly turned to look out of the window.

‘Oh, what’s up?’ he asked.

‘Sky’s looking pretty, daddy!’ she exclaimed.

Newt looked out of the window. The winter sky was cloudy and dark. 

‘It sure is.’

The Them had a snowball fight. They’ve might be fourteen already, but that doesn’t mean that they had to stop playing. The air was cold, snowflakes fell.

Adam managed to hit Brian square into his face and laughed.

The rain drizzled as Warlock looked out of his bedroom window in Washington. He clutched a pen in his hands, trying to think of the right words to write down. He wanted to write a christmas card to his godbeings, but that was harder than he expected. 

He got up to get a glass a water. The halls were empty. Warlock had argued that they should give their staff some days off so that they could visit their families to celebrate the holidays and his mom had followed up on his wishes. But now he was regretting that a bit, as he walked the mansion on his own, silence weighing heavy on his ears and none of the usual life making a sound.

In the kitchen he filled a glass with tap water.

He lent against the counter as he sipped the water.

His phone buzzed and Warlock pulled it out of his pocket. 

C _Merry Christmas._

Warlock smiled.


	12. C, F, G, A minor

-2024, spring, the cottage in South Downs, UK-

The demon and angel had spent the day in calm domesticity. Aziraphale was reading a new acquisition – a book by a promising young author, their first published novel – and Crowley was watching Spongebob re-runs on low volume, wrapped up in a thick down comforter. At one point during the Alaskan bull worm episode he turned towards his angel and started watching him. This view was far more interesting than the twenty third re-watch of the same episode – even if it was quite a good episode. So Crowley just stared without restraint at Aziraphale, taking in his ridiculously cute gold rimmed glasses, how he smiled at the paperback in his hand, the deep laugh lines crinkling at particular amusing parts. He stared at his angel’s face and the supremely soft light golden curls framing his head.

Out of the corner of his eye Aziraphale became aware that two golden snake eyes were staring at him and he smirked.

‘Something the matter, dear?’ he asked as he took a bookmark, marking the page he was at and turned to the demon next to him.

‘Nothin’. Jus’ watchin’,’ the demon mumbled into the comforter and stared some more. Five years, and he still was a bit baffled that they were here alive, together, and he could just watch his angel. Just like that.

The comforter smelled like sleep and Aziraphale.

‘Just watching?’ the angel asked with a glint in his eye, ‘I can’t possibly be that interesting.’

Crowley sat up a bit, ‘Nothing more interesting than you, angel,’ and after a breath he added cheekily, ‘or prettier.’

Now Aziraphale was not only smiling, but also cutely flustered, cheeks colored an endearing tinge of pink, like after a glass of the first hot mulled wine of the winter in winter.

‘Oh, hush, you old flatterer,’ he muttered.

‘T’aint flattery, it’s just the truth,’ Crowley answered while scooting closer to Aziraphale. 

He closely studied the shift of the angel’s mouth as it curled into a loving expression, as the laugh lines deepened and the eyes glittered like the sun itself. And then he just stared at the other’s mouth, and licked his lips. One last look into the deep blue eyes next to him, and Aziraphale bridged the last breath of distance. The kiss was soft, just a brush of touch. Just a sweet little skirmish of touching, then they pulled apart and stared into each other’s eyes again, for just a heartbeat for mortals, just a breath for immortals. Aziraphale lifted his hand and streaked his thumb across Crowley’s cheek.

‘I love you,’ he breathed, before they were joined in another kiss, this one stronger, more demanding.

Crowley disentangled from the blanket and started to climb into the angel’s lap. One hand strong on Aziraphale’s hip, another one mussing up the blonde curls. He was just about to descend into another kiss as a sharp knock on the front door interrupted them. Crowley stared at the direction of the offending sound with as much annoyance he could muster. 

‘I wonder who that is?’ the angel asked while craning his neck to also look in direction of the front door.

‘Who cares? Ignore ‘em,’ the demon already moved decidedly to continue their making out session, kissing Aziraphale’s jaw and neck, earning a giggle. Another knock interrupted them again.

‘It might be the post,’ the angel thought out loud, ‘I did order a new catalogue.’

‘At this time of the day, angel?’ Crowley muttered against the angel’s throat which sent a shiver through him. 

‘You know how courier services are treating their subcontractors,’ another shiver as the demon kissed his throat again, ‘I am sure it’s just something that can be dealt in a moment.’

Aziraphale softly pushed Crowley away from him and rubbed soothing circles on his cheek. Crowley relented, but promised to himself that the angel will really need to make this interruption up to him. With something absolutely demonic like a long soak in the bathtub, or an evilly long massage. He got up from Aziraphale’s lap with the most melodramatic sigh he could muster, and since he was very well versed in drama, this sigh managed to carry over the weight of the world, a quarter of Mars and at least three medium sized meteorites. But it didn’t have the intended effect on Aziraphale, who just chuckled at the theatrics.

He pressed a quick kiss on the drama demon’s lips and then walked other to the front door. He paused a moment in front of it to smooth down his waist coat and take care of any wrinkles. He didn’t want to appear to disheveled in front whoever was at the front door. He also straightened his bow tie.

As he opened the front door, he greeted, ‘Good evening, how c-’

Words died in his throat as he took in who stood in front of him. 

Archangel Uriel, dark skin gleaming in the evening sun, stood in front of him. Her normally precise, tight posture was slumped, shoulders curved downward, head slightly hanging. Her right hand was grabbing her left shoulder, lower arm protectively in front of her chest. Her eyes were downcast, staring at the welcome mat of the cottage, tracing the letters again and again.

Aziraphale wasn’t sure how long the two of them stood there, but a call from the living room shook him out of his stupor.

‘Who’s it, angel?’

The voice seemed to also startle Uriel out of her stupor. She snapped her head up. Her dark eyes were so heavy with melancholy that Aziraphale needed to swallow to keep his throat clear.    
Her voice seemed less affected by what was going on, keeping steady and melodic as ever.

‘Sorry… I didn’t know who to turn to,’ she said, ‘may I come in?… Please…?’

Aziraphale debated saying no. He had all reason to deny the archangel entrance. Heaven did try to kill humanity for their silly war and she was present at his own execution, after all. And who could fault him to not want the people, who did nothing as he (well, Crowley in his body) walked into his destruction without even lifting a finger, around? Who wanted sapient beings destroyed in a senseless war? Who just watched the atrocities happening the last 6000 years?

But, she looked so small, in front of him, a heavy weight on her shoulders. And if she was desperate enough to ask the traitors or help- what kind of angel would he be, turning away someone rapping at his door, searching for help?

He moved aside and motioned for Uriel to step inside. 

The two angels made their way towards the living room, Aziraphale at the front. 

He called out to the demon, ‘Seems like we have a visitor. Would you be a dear and put on some tea?’

‘Eh, sure, who’s it-,’ for the second time in one evening the appearance of the archangel Uriel caused a loss of speech. 

Crowley jerkily pulled a pair of sunglasses from his front pocket and put them on his face. He stared at Aziraphale and moved his arms in a ‘what the fuck, angel’-gesture between the two celestial beings in front of him.

‘It’s alright dearest,’ Aziraphale tried to paint it on thick to placate him, and Crowley realized that it worked, dammit.

‘Tea, if you please?’

Eyeing the archangel suspiciously he slowly walked backwards to the kitchen. When he was out of the view Aziraphale cleared his throat and turned to Uriel.

‘Please excuse him. He’s still a bit miffed about… things.’ He motioned her towards the couch, ‘Please sit.’

Uriel eyed the couch and within a blink of an eye the thick, warm, black and white comforter disappeared, only leaving the old comfortable, sat-in couch. 

Reluctantly she sat down and said, ‘I understand. Still angry about the Fall, it’s to be expected-’

‘Oh no,’ Aziraphale interrupted, waving her off, ‘it’s not about that. This is about my execution and the workplace bullying,’ and after some thoughtful seconds added, ‘although that was mostly Gabriel, wasn’t it?’

Uriel’s looked at him, brows furrowed. She opened her mouth to speak, but was distracted by a crashing sound in the kitchen. She closed her mouth.

Crowley sauntered back into living room, juggling three tea cups. He put two in front of the angels sitting on the couch and kept the last one for himself as he fell on the chair next to the coffee table and the couch. 

Aziraphale took a sip from his tea, the taste reassuring him, the turned to the archangel next to him.

‘So. Why are you here?’

The hands which before were frozen at her side suddenly moved to her lap, tightly gripping each other. 

‘There is-,’ she paused a moment, ‘I am having troubles, and Beelzebub pointed me to you for help.’

The other two shot each other a look. 

‘They did?’ Crowley asked. Uriel answered with a short nod.

‘What do you need help with?’ Aziraphale inquired. 

Uriel looked at him. He could see that something was bothering her, but he needed her to communicate what was gnawing at her. From her expression he could see that she was struggling to put her emotions into words. He gestured to the tea cup in front of her.

‘The tea, my dear, it will help.’

She cautiously took the fine porcelain tea cup in her hands. The heat of the tea radiated through the thin walls of the cup and warmed her hands. She sipped a little bit. The warmth and taste took her by surprise, but not in a negative way. An earthy, subtle fruity taste, like daisies, grabbed her senses; bordering on overwhelming. The warmth flooded her stomach and radiated up her throat. She tentatively took another sip. This drink – tea – really helped a bit.

She lowered the cup. 

‘It’s just, I have troubles,’ she flinched, ‘And, and I would- Gabriel and Michael have so much to do, you know?’

She took another, bigger gulp of tea, ‘And, it’s not like they-. They’re barely in Heaven, Gabriel doing what he needs on Earth, and Michael near to never leaves Hell, doing whoever knows what with Dagon; She does what she needs to-,’ a caught sob turned into a high pitched whine which escaped her throat.

Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged worried glances as the archangel took heavy, aborted breaths. A couple of tears ran down her cheeks. She put the half-filled tea cup back on the table and straightened her back and put her hands back to her sides.

‘They have important things to do, don’t they? So I have to keep Heaven in order on my own.’

‘You’re overworked,’ Crowley commented dryly.

Uriel shook her head. Then she nodded. Then she tried to clarify, ‘Nnnh, maybe. But- but I can deal with  _ overworked _ . But, the other angels- Gabriel, Michael-, they- Heaven is- there is-,’ she interrupted her own rambling and turned to Aziraphale, pleading voice, ‘you can feel it, right?’

‘Feel what? Elaborate, please,’ Aziraphale answered. 

‘You’re an angel. You are connected to the host- you have to feel  _ it _ . The  _ fractures _ ,’ she looked at him with her big, dark, gold flecked eyes, ‘Try to feel it, please.’

Aziraphale closed his eyes. He felt his Grace, golden and gleaming, still strong inside in him, the Godly love. Next to and intertwined with his Grace the heavenly connection sat, an ice cold pearly blue, metaphorically dusty. He should probably feel guilty from the disuse, but couldn’t find the effort to care about the ones who never were satisfied with who he was. But still, at this moment, he grabbed the metaphorical feather duster to clean of the old connections and pulled on the cold steel cords connecting him to Heaven. Which meant paying close attention to what was happening, instead of just disregarding any emotion coming from this corner of his being. So he peered into the connection to the heavenly host, paying close attention, experiencing it and he became frighteningly aware what Uriel had meant.

Fine cracks were grazing every connection. At the beginning, the love of twenty million angels and the Almighty had filled it to the brim. Then the mourning of ten million of angels and then the deep connection of those ten million – 

there were deep fractures. Hairline fissures gave way to deep canyons. Connections, once thick like steel cables and unyielding like mountains, now were fragile and thin like silk threads. Where once was, a long time ago, just rejoice and joy, and then, after the war, anger and comradery, there now was a raging storm of emotions. The angels were barely kept together with just the long past speeches of two archangels, the reassurances of one, and the deep-running faith in Her – a faith which Aziraphale recalled should be far,  _ far _ more overwhelming.

Aziraphale opened his eyes, metaphysically stumbling away as much as he could from the turbulence of the heavenly host. 

‘Oh my, oh dear,’ he took in a deep breath to keep himself grounded. Immediately two hands were at his shoulder stroking reassuringly, a demon kneeling in front of him.

‘Angel?’ the cautious voice of Crowley called out. Aziraphale took some more deep breaths, reminding him, that even if Heaven- - - 

He still had Crowley, and the Almighty, until the end.

‘Angel, I’m here,’ Crowley moved to take both of the angel’s hands into his own, ‘Come back. Here. To Earth, to me,’ he mumbled while he moved to kiss Aziraphale’s knuckles. 

At this touch Aziraphale shook out of his rigor.

‘Oh dear, I am here, love.’ 

He moved his whole body towards the kneeling demon as his hands were still entangled, touching foreheads. He stared deep into Crowley’s eyes.

Uriel watched the scene in front of her, deep in thought. After some minutes, when neither of the two made a move, she cleared her throat, looking a little sheepish at intruding.

The demon glared at her without any heat behind it, while the rogue angel just looked flustered. 

Aziraphale coughed politely.

‘Yes, I can feel it, Uriel. It- uh. It’s worrying.’

Uriel groaned, picked up the cup and drained the rest of the tea. 

‘Yes, it is. And every day it gets worse. I tried, really- I am- I talked to Gabriel and Michael about this. But they- Gabriel is so preoccupied with being angry and running around Earth, and I barely see Michael when she decides to pop out from Hell and Dagon, and I think you know why I can’t talk to  _ Sandalphon _ , and I can’t really go around worrying the lower ranks,- and you are the first ones who listen.’

She put down her teacup on the table and put her head into her hands. The demon and angel next to her stared at her. Crowley had Aziraphale’s hands in a vice grip, who did not even register the pain of it.

Gabriel on earth, the increased presence of angels and demons, Michael in Hell with Dagon? Both had questions, but were interrupted by a heavy sob by Uriel. 

‘And the angels, they,’ she grimaced as if in pain, ‘they have concerns, and they, they question, and they are starting to  _ doubt _ .’

Aziraphale sucked in a deep breath at that while Crowley let go of his hand and shot upright, taking a step backwards away from the two.

Aziraphale took a deep breath and carefully inquired, ‘They aren’t doubting Her, are they…?’

A frightful cry escaped her throat, ‘Oh, I don’t know! Not yet! Not yet, its us archangels and heaven right now…! But, when we, when I, aren’t enough, at one point they might…,’ Uriel shuddered, ‘I pray, so much. No answers, never.’

She whispered, ‘No answer for me since six thousand years. How long- At one point I will-’

‘NO!’, the sudden yell startled both the angels and Uriel snapped her eyes towards the demon. The demon took a step to the archangel, face contorted in anger. He jabbed his finger towards Uriel multiple times.

‘Don’t finish that sentence! Don’t even fucking dare to think whatever you try to think there!’

Uriel leaned back as the accusing finger pointed at her face and frowned through her tears. 

‘What do you even care, demon?’, she asked.

Crowley got right into her face and snarled. 

He hissed, ‘You know what quesstionss and  _ doubt _ of Her lead to? It- You don’t know how it isss. Thissss-,’ loosing control of the serpent’s hiss, he ran a hand through his hair as leaned back and pain laced his voice, ‘you don’t desssserve that. Nobody doessssss,- not even Gabriel, the twat.’

He started pacing the room, running a hand through his hair periodically, muttering under his breath.

Uriel stared at him, baffled. She was surprised that the demon actually seemed to be worried about an angel falling.

Aziraphale also looked at his husband for a bit, then turned towards the archangel next to him.

‘Maybe you should rest a bit, my dear.’

She looked at him puzzled. He put a hand on her chest and guided her down on the couch with a determined but caring touch until she was laying down.

He knelt next to her ear and whispered, ‘Try to sleep, please. You are overworked and sleep can help to see troubles in a new light.’

He stroked Uriel short, tight curls. She closed her eyes and suddenly realized how exhausted she was, tiredness settling deep in her wings and wheels. Her breathing leveled.

After she fell asleep Aziraphale got up. He walked to Crowley and offered his hand.

‘Come upstairs, please?’

Crowley glanced at the sleeping figure on their couch. 

He followed his angel.

Crowley awoke in the middle of the night. The world was dark, only the full moon cast her cool, white rays through the window, painting wide beams across the ceiling. He licked his lip a couple of times to chase away the dry feeling and tried to identify what had woke him up. While his senses struggled to come online he heard it – a hauntingly beautiful voice floated through the air. Eyes blinking blearly, he tried to discern what was part of sleep and what was reality. He turned towards the source of warmth next to him and the intense blue eyes staring back shook the tiredness from his bones.

‘Angel?’ a whisper barely to be able to be heard.

Aziraphale didn’t even manage to quirk the corners of his mouth up in some form of a smile.

‘My dear. Could you please check on her?’

It took a bit until Crowley understood who Aziraphale was talking about. The melancholic song sung by an archangel in the air saturated the air. Crowley nodded, kissed Aziraphale’s forehead, got up and walked downstairs.

He stood in the doorway of the living room for a while. Uriel was sitting on the coach she had slept on, clothes ruffled, eyes closed and focused on singing. Tears were running down her face but her voice was unwavering. Crowley did not understand the language she was singing in, the old language of the angels long taken from him, but he understood the emotions behind the unknown words.

He slowly walked over to Uriel. He was unsure how angels comforted each other nowadays, if they even did that at all. He sat down besides her on the sofa, remembering what she said, what Aziraphale had told him about Gabriel. No, angels definitely don’t properly comfort each other. But, demons don’t either. So he tried the only way he knew- the human way. He took her hand in his own while she sang. Her voice stayed unwavered, but he didn’t expect it to change. She slightly leaned towards him.

He listened to her song and held her hand until the last notes rung in the deep of the night, and the resonating waves dissipated into nothingness. Uriel opened her eyes and lifted her head to stare out of a window into moon-soaked flora outside. No wind, as if even nature was afraid of her fragile self.

She blinked, turned her head to look at her hand still held by the demon next to her.

‘Do you recognize this song?’ her voice broke through the silence. 

Crowley shook his head and squeezed her hand.

‘I sang this a long time ago, when the last angel had Fallen.’

She again stared straight ahead at nothing and everything.

‘I know that it doesn’t even compare, but we hurt so bad-’

‘There’s no sense in comparing pain, Uriel. Six thousand years on earth and you learn a thing or two. Suffering isn’t a competition,’ he interrupted her.

She looked at him, his gaze pointed at some far away point. 

‘Why are you doing this? Talking me out of doubting, consoling me and now even lifting my pain to the level of yours? Why?’

Crowley furrowed his brows and turned to Uriel, confused.

‘Eh? You’re hurting and you need is a shoulder to cry on. That’s about it.’

‘But, but, that’s not evil, or demonic,’ she said in wonder, ‘Don’t you want to hurt me?’

Crowley shrugged.

‘Why would I want to hurt you? How would that help in any way?’

She stared, baffled.

He waved her off, ‘I’m too tired right now to give you some proper demonic excuse. Ask tomorrow.’

An archangel and a demon sat on the couch, holding hands and for a while she just was.

After Uriel had fallen asleep again, Crowley went upstairs to get into bed again, just longing to wrap all limbs around his angel. He even briefly entertained the thought to go all snake and wrap the everything of him around him. This whole evening had Crowley exhausted.

Aziraphale had his back to him, the moon giving the fluff of his hair an otherworldly glow. Crowley put his arm around the other’s waist, pulling him close. Before he could plunge his head into Aziraphale’s shoulder, the angel turned around, flinging his arms around Crowley. 

His eyes were red from crying, but the smile upon seeing his love was glowing. 

Crowley was taken aback and barely keeping hysteria at bay he asked, ‘Wha- What happened? Aziraphale?’

Aziraphale pulled him close and answered, ‘Her song just carried me away a bit, my love. I’m fine.’

‘What do you mean, carried you away?!’

Aziraphale sighed calmly into his chest, breathing in deep Crowley’s scent of cinnamon and burning pine needles.

He answered, ‘Music communicates emotions very strongly. Do you remember the choirs, praising Her in their song?’

Crowley stroked his head and answered quietly, ‘No, I mostly spent time in the cosmos. Sorry.’

‘Don’t apologize. It’s probably for the best,’ Aziraphale said, ‘An archangel’s song just contains a, uh, bit of a compulsion behind it. An angel is compelled to feel what they’re singing about.’

Aziraphale closed his eyes. ‘You did marvelous. I love you.’

Awake, wrapped in each other’s arms they spent the night.

The next morning Aziraphale fixed Uriel up a cup of tea after she woke up, looking very crumpled from a night on a couch. She gracefully accepted the tea and thanked him for his hospitality. And after the tea cup was empty she got up and turned to leave. In the door to the hallway she stopped. Her posture still was rigid and straight, but not nearly as tense as yesterday.

After some seconds she continued on her way.

Aziraphale sipped his cup of tea.

He hoped they did the right thing.


	13. Intermission 2

-2024 to 2025-

Dagon rechecked the budget, for the third time this morning, or what she guessed was morning. None of Hell’s clocks worked properly. The expenses related to the failed Armageddon and their new Great Plan were severely taxing their accounting system and Mammon had whined to her about it. Through all communication channels. Extensively. He even had crawled up from his departement to nag at her personally and she only had gotten rid of him again after threatening to rip up his Jeff Bezos fan posters.

Dagon gritted her shark teeth and mumbled, ‘I hope this is worth it.’

She barked a sharp laugh. The demons working around her flinched and scattered, each straining to look busy hoping that they will be spared a painfully discorporation.

Sure, worth it, Dagon thought. She thumbed through the budget file in her hands. She licked her teeth.

Dagon hoped that her final battle will be against Michael, that holy prick. That the two of them could rip each other apart in a bloody dance at the end of times, until just one will remain victorious. A violent dance as long as they both are alive.

Poetic, Dagon sneered, tossing the file on the creaking, cluttered desk. She had work to do.

  
  


Shadwell and his two recruits-slash-latin-students who got roped into the witchfinder army during their first semester and then just never stopped attending sat in the witchfinder’s headquarters. The three of them were doing their righteous biweekly fight against witchcraft. Meaning, they were scouring various newspapers for witches and unexplainable phenomena.

Madame Tracy puttered in, carrying a tray with three cups of tea.

‘Will you stay for lunch, dears?’ she asked the two students.

‘Aye woman! Ye’ll be spoiling the lads!’ Shadwell interjected, but didn’t try to dissuade her further from inviting the recruits. He had learned that lesson early.

‘That’ll be lovely,’ the shorter of the two said.

‘Shadwell, sir?’ the taller asked.

‘Witchfinder Sergeant Shadwell, lad. What’s it?’

The taller fumbled a bit with the scissors, then said, ‘Today on the way here I saw something strange. It was kind of a Thing?’

Shadwell looked thoughtful and asked, ‘A witches spellwork?’

The recruit answered, ‘No, I don’t think it was witch-related, it was-,’ but was interrupted by Shadwell.

‘Then it isn’t important.’ Shadwell thought about the last time when his witchfinder private investigated obvious non-witch-related findings. And now he was married to a witch! Even had children with her! Although he had to admit that Anathema was a very kind witch. She even had prepared him a cream for his rash.

‘Naw, lad, it ain’t important.’

  
  


It was a sunny, hot day and if he cared one bit about the earth observers reports he would have noted that the weather parameters were out of specification - but Sandalphon never paid attention to the bustling of the lower ranks.

He had just finished his assigned work on the bridge and turned towards Gabriel. The other archangel stood, silent. Gabriel watched him for a bit then nodded. 

Sandalphon furrowed his brows. Normally the other always had some sort of commentary ready for him - critique, orders, praise, anything.

The two archangels took off towards their next target. They passed a tailor’s shop.

This was a completely different tailor, as this was a city on a different continent, but Gabriel still was distantly taken back to a conversation he had in front of his tailor. When that demon had talked to him about this human’s… affection and about friendship.

Gabriel dismissed the memory. They had work to do.

  
  


Light rain pattered the windows as Harriet and her son sat at lunch. Warlock was talking about some of his video games - Harriet didn’t really understand, but she tried to interject interested-sounding questions now and then. 

Her husband was late, but she had stopped expecting anything different a long time ago. It just hurt her how much it bothered Warlock - or more accurately, how much it had bothered Warlock. Nowadays he didn’t care anymore about the failed promises from his father. 

But Harriet really hadn’t been better, hadn’t she? She had failed her son just as much, focused to much on her loveless marriage, until one day she had drunkenly gotten into a massive argument with her son, which ended with him screaming at her harsh, but necessary, truths. And from this day on she vowed to do better.

She smiled at Warlock who was just explaining something about some character called Link, what an amusing name!, she thought, when the door to the dining room burst open.

Mr. Dowling strode into the room, immediately drawing all the attention onto himself.

‘I have great news! I’ve got a promotion and we’re going to move back to the UK!’

Harriet straightened up and glared at him.

‘Now, shouldn’t we talk over this, together?’ she asked.

Mr. Dowling looked at her, then said, ‘Of course, honey. If you two rather want to stay in the US, then that’s alright.’

Harriet sighed, ‘That’s not what I meant, Thaddeus.’

‘I’d like to go to England,’ Warlock piped up.

Harriet turned to him, surprised. ‘Warlock, sweetie, are you sure? All your friends are here.’

‘Well, I’ll finish school next year and would leave for college either way. Might as well go back now,’ he said with a shrug.

Harriet thought about it a bit and then nodded.

Mr. Dowling clapped and rubbed his hands. ‘Glad that that’s settled!’

  
  


The night was silent as Beelzebub walked through the streets of some city they hadn’t bothered to learn the name of. Soon names will be a moot point. They rechecked their route, seeing their target just a short way from them.

A bustling farmer’s market was in full swing on the plaza. Vegetables, fruits and potatoes were piled high on the tables. One market stall offered fresh fish, another poultry and eggs, two other ones more kinds of cheeses that Beelzebub even knew existed.

One fruit farmer had fresh peaches on display. Beelzebub purchased one. The fruit was soft and heavy in their hand. They bit into the ripe flesh.


	14. A late wedding gift

-2025, late spring, little village in the South Downs, UK-

The smell of freshly baked bread rolls wafted in the air of the small family owned bakery of the town. The baker’s assistant greeted Aziraphale, putting away their phone and smiling at him. He greeted back and engaged them in conversation about their apprenticeship, and oh, are those apricot tartlets? The assistant nodded, telling him that they had prepare those personally, this morning. Aziraphale still smiled when he heard a voice like buzzing flies behind him.

‘Azziraphale.’

‘Oh, good morning, Beelzebub,’ he said as he turned around smiling apologetically to the assistant for their interrupted conversation. They just waved him off and started to prepare his order.

Aziraphale was unfazed by the sudden appearance of his husband’s ex-boss. He did wonder briefly when, going with the current rate, he will have befriended all of Hell’s demons.

Beelzebub stood next to the entrance, door open and their bored into him. A draft wafted through their hair caused newspapers to flutter.

Aziraphale asked them, ‘Do you want to stay for breakfast?’

They shook their head. Their frown was even deeper than normally and their shoulders tense. 

Something must be troubling them, Aziraphale thought.

‘Your order, sir,’ the assistant called out behind him. Aziraphale paid and bid his goodbye. As he walked past Beelzebub he said, ‘Then just walk with me for a while, if you want to.’

The two left the bakery. The baker’s assistant started checking the displays to see how they could arrange it nicely. They noticed that they were running low on bread rolls, so they moved towards the back to prepare new ones. Everything else was fine.

The two beings walked along the street. Beelzebub lifted their head and blinked in the rays of the sun peeking out behind clouds.

‘I told you that I on earth to check on our current agentzz,’ they stated, still looking at the sky.

‘That was quite some time ago, wasn’t it? But yes, I recall,’ Aziraphale answered, peering at them curiously.

‘That wazz a lie.’

Aziraphale hummed. He supposed that such a lie would make sense. 

He said, ‘I imagine that you have subordinates for tasks like that.’

A robin fluttered by, chirping. It landed on the fence the two beings walked past, eyeing them, before taking of in another flight. The fragrance of a batch of lily-of-the-valley wafted in the air.

They nodded and said, ‘I have… different reasonzz why I am here. Zzo have the angelzz, for that matter.’

Aziraphale recalled the times where he has caught glimpses of Gabriel, Michael and other angels throughout the last couple of years, as well as the unpleasant meeting about the ‘census’ as Gabriel has called it.

Aziraphale looked at them curiously and asked, ‘So why are you on earth? If I may ask.’

Beelzebub turned their head to look at him and answered his question with another question, ‘Do you believe in free will?’

‘Well, yes, of course,’ Aziraphale said. He was puzzled by the demon’s question. Of course there is free will, otherwise what would be the point Heaven and Hell for the human souls? No need to punish someone who had no choice.

‘And redemption?’

‘Well, nobody is past redemption. Although some would have to really work for it,’ he said and wrinkled his nose as he thought about the atrocities he witnessed other the last six thousand years.

Beelzebub looked at him and lifted one eyebrow.

‘I’m not talking about the humanzz,’ they said, ‘I azzk about uzz.’

Aziraphale abruptly stopped walking. He stared at Beelzebub, mouth agape. They stared back, head tilted. He closed his mouth and cleared his throat.

‘I- Oh dear. Angels and demons aren’t supposed to have free will,’ he explained, ‘we act according to the divine plan.’

Aziraphale suddenly felt very uncomfortable. It was one thing to discuss theological matters with Crowley, who pushed, sure, but never too far - but with a literal prince of Hell? And he winced at his earlier thought - no sense in punishing someone who has no choice.

They interrupted the angel’s thoughts with another question, ‘Aren’t zzupozzed to have free will, or don’t have? There izz a difference.’

Full of restlessness Aziraphale started walking again and Beelzebub followed, silent.

‘We’re not supposed to,’ Aziraphale answered, after some time.

Beelzebub understood. They nodded and cleared their throat.

‘Conzzider thizz a very late wedding gift,’ Beelzebub said, ‘The forcezz are now returning to Heaven and Hell, preparing. The next Armageddon izz zzoon and thizz time humanity won’t zztop it. Won’t be around to. You have two monthzz.’ 

After a small pause they added in a soft, nearly unhearable, buzz, ‘Be prepared.’

The prince of Hell disappeared without a trace.

Aziraphale did, as a rule, not swear. He might’ve be a persona non grata in Heaven, but he still was an angel and thus he had to keep some level of decorum.

‘Oh bugger.’

Aziraphale took off to the cottage in a brisk pace. He was an expert at fretting, and at worrying and fussing and various other ways to feel troubled and he put his expertise to good use on the walk back. He thought how to tell Crowley what the Lord of the Flies just had told him. Two months! Such a short time! The last time they had eleven years and managed to waste eleven of those, and barely managed to do anything in that one,  _ very _ stressful, week. How are the two of them supposed to avert the next Armageddon with just two months to spare? Especially since what Beelzebub had said was highly cryptic - just a threat to humanity and a timeframe. 

Maybe, this time, he could listen to Crowley and just run away. To Alpha Centauri - like Crowley had pleaded him to do. Abaddon Earth, but be safe.

Aziraphale stepped into their kitchen and shook his head. He knew that he couldn’t do that.

He put the bag of baked goods on the counter. 

A sudden, aching need to wrap his arms around his husband gripped Aziraphale and he moved to find Crowley. 

The demon was in the garden, painting. His dark clothes were full of paint splotches and his hair glowed like fire in the sun’s rays. Aziraphale looked at the canvas full of deep dark blue and purples and bright white spots. He stifled a laugh – Crowley will never let go of the star thing, will he? And Aziraphale would never want him to.

Crowley was standing with his back to him, streaking his paintbrush through a dark, deep red on his palette. Aziraphale hurried the few steps which seemed too far away from his love and tightly wrapped his arm around Crowley from behind.

Crowley still moved the brush through the red paint, soaking the fibers with the pigment. 

‘Hi, angel’ he breathed softly.

‘Oh, how I love. How I love you, dear’, the angel whispered softly into Crowley’s back, ‘I love you so dearly.’

Crowley’s insides turned to mush, like every time Aziraphale told him that he loved him. But he heard the slight tremble in his angel’s voice. He put away his palette and brush on a convenient, nearby table, then tried to peel away the arms around his midsection, which held steadfast.

‘C’mon, angel. I want to look at you.’ 

With this Aziraphale conceded and let go of his grip enough to let Crowley turn around. The demon took the chance and used his hand to move his angel’s head up so that their gazes could meet.

‘What’s the matter, angel?’ he asked, prepared to needle whatever was bothering Aziraphale out of him, but was quite surprised that no prodding was needed.

‘I met Beelzebub. At the bakery,’ Aziraphale breathed a weary sigh, ‘They said they were here to give a warning.’

‘A warning? What for?’ Crowley asked, frowning. 

Aziraphale’s head tipped forward to rest against his chest. The sun, as if wary of what was to come, disappeared behind a cloud front.

‘About… Armageddon. They said, that the next time humans won’t be around to stop it. They… They said we’d have two months,’ Aziraphale recited their words.

Crowley tensed. He pulled Aziraphale closer, staring towards the ivy-covered wall of their cottage. Towards the home they had made. He lifted one arm to slowly caress to through the white curls, the other holding onto Aziraphale’s waist.

He took a breath.

‘Heaven and Hell have planned something,’ he said as he desperately held Aziraphale, hands digging into the other’s body. Aziraphale nodded.

Crowley stopped staring at the building and instead put his head in the the perfect fit of the crook of his angel’s neck. He felt something hot and wet on his face and realized he was crying.

‘We’ll-,’ he started and did not even find the energy to hate himself about how his voice was cracking, ‘We’ll figure something out. Find some way. Ask Adam and Anathema. Bloody smart, crafty buggers the two of them!

And the oth- the other’s, too. Sshadwell,’ he bit his tongue at the loss of control of the sibilants, ‘T-Tracy, Newt, Pepper and the other two, who orbit ‘round Adam, maybe, maybe Anathema’ss little daughter has an idea –  _ fuck _ .’

Crowley caught himself in his rambling and Aziraphale strengthened his hold. The two of them have had mortal companions and friends during their long life and the passing of those always hurt. But, mortality was, at least until now, a unchanging part of humanity. So the ends of the people they had have known were painful, but understandable. And they knew that their companions of the first Apocalypse will one day meet Death, too, and that would be right. But, there was a distinct difference between the natural end of a human life - whether it be old age, illness or even by the hand of another human. and the end by the hands of... 

Aziraphale hesitated to call it divinity.

It was not right for human life to end at the hand of the otherworldly.

Crowley was hugging him tight, bordering on painful.

‘Sshit,’ the demon cursed, no longer in control of the hissing of his serpent nature, ‘sshe will die – Sshe issn’t even five yearsss old- how’sss that sssuppossed to be fair?!’

He was snarling at no one at everyone, asking, ‘What are _ her _ sssinsss?’

Aziraphale heard more hushed, hissed curses of plans and ineffabilities and of Her. His thoughts moved to Libera. She was a talkative loud-mouth, with a wide, condescending, missing-teeth-smile, still strikingly like Anathema’s, always a question or comment on her, and his heart hurt.

They had gotten so close to this merry bunch of humans.

‘We have to stop this,’ Aziraphale sighed into Crowley’s chest.

‘...Yess’

No argument about running away, Aziraphale thought, startled at his own disappointment.

‘But how? We didn’t really stand out with competence last time,’ he pointed out.

Crowley hummed, ‘Yeah, we didn’t. But, I think, we all played a part in keeping the last Armageddon from happening. And the others can help.’

The demon nodded. And they stood still, embracing each other for a while. Just soaking in the other for it might be one of the last times they could do it, before calling together the Tadfield gang.

Calling the gang together was easier than expected, but apparently ‘Another doomsday’s on the way, fancy a meeting?’ had quite the result. So they were sitting together in the cottage in the South Downs, each of them with a cup of tea, on insistence of Aziraphale. An empty plate full of crumbs, plundered by the Them, was on the coffee table. Now they were waiting for the metaphorical bomb to drop.

Aziraphale took over the talking and told them, about the increased ethereal and occult presence, and about Beelzebub’s words. Pepper sipped her tea and leveled  _ the _ question of the questions at the two supernatural beings in their midst. 

‘So why do these ignorant assholes want to have a fucking war?’

Crowley shifted in his seat, not letting go of Aziraphale’s hand.

‘Hell’s propaganda mostly talks about killing and torturing angels, so I suppose that’s what they want. Satan definitely talked at length about making some interesting art pieces with angel bones,’ Crowley shivered, ‘Those team building events. Urgh. Others… Some think that’s the way to atonement. And a lot who don't think for themselves and just follow orders,’ he shrugged, ‘Aren’t a smart or inventive bunch.’

Aziraphale added, ‘I never paid much attention to Heaven’s memos and notices about the war. I think their reason is mostly about being Righteous. Vanquish evil, create harmony, and hopefully She will grant you with some attention?’

Pepper wrinkled her nose.

‘So angels are a bunch of babies trying to get some attention from their mommy?’

Aziraphale looked very offended and tried to say, ‘It is more compli-’

‘Yeah, pretty much,’ Crowley interrupted him, ‘And demons are the naughty kids kicked out of home and now want to hurt back. But we’re not here to talk about that, we’re here to find a solution about the impending murder of all humans.'

So they ruminated together to find a way to stay un-murdered, plans made and subsequently tore down, ideas thrown into the mix and immediately dismissed, and as the hours marched on nothing concrete was noted down. And with darkening of the sky the humans retired towards the various offered horizontal surfaces in the cottage. Aziraphale and Crowley stood outside, just some steps out of the open door, hands interlaced.


	15. To change the motion

**** The first rays of the new day creeped over the land. Anathema, still tired, stumbled out of the cottage. Her hair was disheveled and her clothes rumpled. Her fitful sleep hadn’t brought much rest, her thoughts far to preoccupied with looming problems in front of her. At least Newt had slept through the night, his normal fidgeting, anxious self brought to rest by Morpheus’ gift. Libera also slept long, drooling on her father’s chest. Anathema had taken the time to look at her peaceful family for a couple minutes before she took off to go outside. A breath of fresh, cold air would do her good.

After she stepped out the front door she stopped and took in the new day and the two beings in front of her.

The rest of daily life was slowly waking up. Birds were already screaming their greeting songs to the new morning. Some hares ran a few laps around their burrows on the fields. The dew glistened in the morning sun and slowly started to evaporated off the grass blades. The fog of spring dissipated, just leaving clear air and the promise of a brilliant blue sky following into the day.

Anathema drew an occult symbol for hope and protection in the air.

She cleared her throat and the two beings turned around.

‘Hrm?’ the demon asked.

‘I… I have an idea,’ she said. From what the demon and angel had told them about Hell’s and Heaven’s creativity, it would probably something simple, a classic. ‘It’ being the eradication of humanity - and as she tossed and turned during the night, thinking back to the  _ last _ Armageddon, drafting ideas and dismissing them. It needed to be something that could kill enough humans at once that they could turn Earth into their battleground. So, she surmised, that it wasn’t probably one big kill switch, but things distributed all over the planet. Maybe not in every little town, but definitely in the big population centres. And if they could find it, they could find a way to stop it - maybe it even would be enough to have Newt touch it.

The trouble then was - how to find it? Until now it hadn’t crossed any official radars, as the lack of reporting in the news were to go by.

She took a step forward and said, ‘Whatever they are planning, it’s probably cloaked from divine or occult perception - so you don’t muck it up again, no?’

The two in front of her nodded.

She took another step forward and stood next to them.

‘But, maybe, like Adam, it’s not cloaked from  _ human _ perception.’

Crowley drove Anathema to her home in Tadfield so she could gather every resource on earthen witchcraft she had. She did not comment on his reckless speed, cutting the driving time down to half an hour. She wasn’t even in the vicinity of being bothered and used the time instead to call in favors from other covens. She had the other witches on speakerphone and copied down spells, runes and references in a small notebook. She was in and out of Jasmine Cottage in record time, piling tools, maps and tomes into the backseat.

They were back before anyone else had woken up.

She was just sorting through her tomes when Newt came down the steps. He didn’t even ask and instead sat down next to her, helping her categorizing. Anathema smiled at him softly, before getting back to the task.

Tracy had dragged up Shadwell and immediately got up to prepare breakfast and tea, no sense in meeting the end of the world hungry!

Brian had gotten up next and after a quick consultation with Anathema and Newt, and after getting a snack from the kitchen, he sat down on the couch, puzzling over a yellowed map of the world.

‘Oi, lad, y’ve’er read a map?’ Shadwell asked him.

‘No, sir,’ Brian answered honestly. Maps were more Adam’s and Pepper’s thing, he mostly made sure they packed water, food and other essentials for their adventures.

Shadwell motioned for him to move over.

‘I’ll show ye, lad.’

At some point Wensleydale appeared between Shadwell and Newt, quickly taking over coordination everyone.

Pepper stood, leaning at the door upstairs, taking in the happenings before bounding down the steps to tell Anathema that they can go to the library to use the copier, no need to write down everything ten times. Libera weaved through all the people in the cottage, giving the observant commentary only a five-year-old is capable of.

Adam walked outside and stopped a step out of the front door. Dog was digging a hole right under the old, painted a flaking white, fence. Adam could see that the bushes growing along the fence were trembling slightly.

Reality arcked around the cottage, the not quite ethereal, not quite occult influence leaving its sign on it. His godfathers were standing near a bench in a similar condition of the fence, occupied in quiet conversation. Adam walked towards them.

The two were holding on each other closely.

‘Hey,’ Adam greeted, softly.

Crowley looked at him, a faint smile on his lips. He stepped away from Aziraphale just far enough that the teenager fit. Adam looked at the space, then waved Dog to him. The hellhound bounded to him, picking up on his Master’s distress and whined. Adam went forward until he stood between an angel and a demon. A hellhound sat at his feet.

Crowley put a hand on his shoulder without any hesitation. Aziraphale sighed heavily. Dog whined again and nipped at his master’s shoes.

Crowley asked, ‘You’ve got any way…?’ 

The rest of the question never left his demonic godfather, but Adam knew what he meant.

Adam shook his head, ‘Naw, th’s not m’place.’

His angelic godfather also put his hand on Adam’s shoulder.

‘We understand, dear boy. No non-human interference,’ Aziraphale said as he looked at Crowley.

Crowley squeezed Adam’s shoulder’s.

‘But there is a difference in interfering and helping,’ Crowley said, ‘Offering an arm to a granny to get her across the street is helping, changing reality to make sure she gets across safely is interfering - and you know, don’t you?’

Adam nodded.

‘Like makin’ up a game t’play w’ m’friends and forcin’em to d’stuff,’ he paused, continuing softly, ‘Like creatin’ a manual an’ cheatin’.’

Adam breathed, ‘Linin’ up the dominoes so they fall how’d’y want.’

He felt how his god-beings’ hands on his shoulders stilled. Even Dog suddenly pressed close at the change in mood.

Adam nodded, self-assured. He was a leader and a helper. And he will help as much as he can, the human way. Reality curled around the three, twisting tightly, only really perceived by Adam and his close friends.

Anathema stormed out the door yelling, ‘Alright, we’ve got it!’


	16. The gift of knowledge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Work was a tad stressful, so I didn't have the energy to work on the story. :<
> 
> A small note: Agent Smith is supposed to be a trans woman and I hope I depicted that respectfully! If you have any critique to do it better I'm all ears!!

They had decided to start their search in London - Anathema had argued that they would be more likely to succeed in finding out the plan in in a big city. She marked down the districts for everyone to take, keeping their senses open to anything unusual and using the spells that were written down on a stack of papers loosely stapled together.

Crowley was tasked to check out Westminster and Mayfair, so he was currently stomping through St. James Park. He was decidedly unhappy. It did not sit right with him one bit to be away from his angel while the second Armageddon was breathing heavily around the corner like some creep. But the arguments were sound - that they will cover more ground on their own; that they need to succeed, for humanity's sake; that the entertainment opportunities were really limited around Alpha Centauri; and if they succeed they can stay around each other as much as they want.

He still was irritated.

He was grumbling at no one particular, ‘And this is human magic, why’d she think  _ I  _ can use that?!’

A middle aged blonde woman sitting on a bench shot him a curious look. Agent Madison Smith, her name in its third iteration, was just shy of fifty and dressed sharply in a dark blazer and a pencil skirt.

Her post in London was new, her predecessor had just retired a couple of weeks ago. He had briefed her extensively about her new duties - about communicating with the “enemy” and how to “keep them at their toes”, interspersed with a lot of winks and mentions of good restaurants to sample. And he had mentioned a pair of agents which had made themselves rare in the last six, seven years. None of the agents knew who they worked for, just that they had met a lot in this park - and that the betting pool whether they would become a thing or not had been won by agent Tanaka after they were seen kissing in 2021. He made her promise to shoot him a message when they ever opened another betting pool. One of the mentioned pair was described to her as lanky, red-haired, dark-clothed, always in sunglasses. The other, looking like stuck a century early, bleach-blonde curls, soft-looking, proper.

And it seemed that Madison Smith was graced by one of these strange agents on her first day alone on field.

He whirled around.

‘Ey, you!’ he pointed at Smith, who startled at the sudden address of her.

‘Yes?’ 

Crowley stalked over and jabbed a finger at the agent’s breast bone. 

‘You want to hear some fucked up world-ending stuff?!’ he almost yelled at Smith.

Smith just took a second to decide, yes, she definitely wanted to hear world-ending stuff. Not because she was curious, of course - She was an agent, to listen to world ending stuff was her job.

‘Yes.’

‘Heaven and Hell banded together, because they want to kill each other badly enough – as if that makes any fucking sense?! – So they want to kill all humanity, so they can have their fucked up war!’

Ah, a conspiracy theorist. God knows she met enough of these in the US, especially after the late 2010’s. Figure’s that the continent has them, too, she thought.

Smith raised one eyebrow and asked, ‘Uh, so, God wants-?’

‘God doesn’t give a shit, She’s never cared!’ He interrupted her.

She? Smith decided to file that under  _ interesting fact _ and  _ new cults? _ and looked at the slightly insane man in front of her.

‘So, why do “they” want a war? Because of the sinners?’

The man managed to shoot her a look through his sunglasses like  _ she _ was the insane one in this conversation.

‘Didn’t you listen? No, they don’t give a fuck about humanity, otherwise they wouldn’t want to  _ kill  _ them,’ he sounded like he was talking to someone particularly daft, ‘Urgh, this is stupid.  _ I _ am stupid. Here, that’s the facts, use them how you will. You want it or no?’

He shoved a stack of haphazardly stapled papers he was carrying towards her.

As an agent of the greatest nation on earth Madison Smith was a rational woman and an educated person. She should have just shooed the lunatic off and waited for her contact. 

There always had been a lot of should haves in Smith’s life. Be the golden child, the baseball prodigy, be her father’s s-. No, she thought, should haves need to be treated with a critical eye. Something akin to a memory stirred in her. Not something seated in her head, but deeper, woven into the very DNA of her cells. She looked at the stack of papers and saw a garden, a wild, tamed jungle teeming with life, and an apple, deeply red and crisp.

She nodded and took the stack of papers.

‘Good luck, you’ll need it,’ the man said before storming off.

Smith thumbed through the papers. The writings in it barely made sense - it was about spells and witchcraft, apparently. Agent Petrov sat down beside her, a bag of warm croissants in his hand.

‘ _ Zdravstvuyte _ , agent Smith,’ he greeted, his face full of deep wrinkles as he smiled while offering her a croissant.

‘Good evening, Petrov,’ she greeted back and took a croissant. She took a bite, savoring the buttery flavor. Petrov kept the bakery where he got his croissants close to his chest, otherwise she would visit it daily. While she chewed she took another look at the open page in front of her. She debated whether she should tell him about the strange encounter she just had. He would probably think of her as just as insane.

She swallowed the piece of pastry and told him. Petrov did not think of her as insane. He believed her and he was worried.

The sun had set some time ago. Pepper walked along the street next to the tower of London. During the day, she had checked inside of it with the spells Anathema had given her, but the masses of people had made it hard to discern if they had worked and with nightfall the tourists and her were ushered out. She looked upon the old walls and incanted the words, like the witch had told her, again.

After a moment Pepper opened her eyes. The night was calm, clouds obscured the stars and the moon. The air was warm and still. Pepper wished that Adam was here. He surely would knew what to do- Pepper shook her head. Adam did not know what to do, so they had to pick up where he couldn’t - that's what friends are for!

She started walking west-bound down the street, incanting the words as she went.

Smith was in her cramped, dingy hotel room, window overlooking congested streets. Sipping on lemonade, she typed up her report of the meeting with agent Petrov. Some sirens - a firetruck, she guessed - passed through the heavy traffic underneath her window. 

After some pondering, she opened a second document and typed up the other happenings of the day. It did seem important, so she decided to add it as an addendum to her official report. If her bosses thought that it was nonsense they would delete it, no troubles. And while she typed, the moon slowly rose over London.

Agent Smith’s report about Petrov was acknowledged and correctly filed away in triplicate to the various official and inofficial archives. Her boss was content – after the diplomatic nightmare the late tens and early twenties of the 2000’s were, they were just happy that relations were relaxing again. They took another look at the second report that Smith had send. They had confidence in Smith’s observations. She had been specifically chosen as an important agent to mend relations because of her sharp wit and critical opinion towards unquestioned obedience. So, if she thought that this man’s word was important, they would at least read it and transfer it to the archives.

A night in a city like this isn’t a proper night, Pepper thought, everything’s still to bright and nervous. The clouds started to clear up a bit.

Pepper couldn’t see any stars.

The official US archives in London were a mess. Sure they were better than a lot of other countries’ archives – every database administrator who looked at Germany's  _ still _ paper-based ones would break out in desperate tears. But the US’ archives were overloaded with the digitized reports of the last centuries, so stumbling upon a specific one was pretty unlikely. 

On a bored evening, Fate Pierce pulled up Smith’s report and a copy of a stack of papers some man had given the agent. She turned the bundle of sheets around in her hands. Curiously, Fate decided to check out the report and the papers and took both back to her lab. Half a decade ago, after a visit of the american… ambassador? Politician? She never paid enough attention to the political changes, considering they paid her. After Mr. Dowling visited she found a feather where his case had sat. And she returned with the report and the stack of papers to the feather.

Pepper was still walking on the north side of the Thames when she decided to cross one of the many bridges spanning the river. In the dark of the night the lights of the city glittered in the water, like the stars missing on the firmament. 

At the middle of the bridge Pepper looked over the railing, right down a pillar. It seemed absolutely inconspicuous. She narrowed her eyes. After checking whether the coast is clear she climbed over the railing and slowly made her way down.

Fate took another look at the data she had gathered. She had used every non-destructive analytical method she managed to get her hands on to see what was up. She prowled around her desk, a large white swan feather laying on it. 

Her office next to the lab was small, with towering bookcases filled to the brim with books, reports and journals, making it even more cramped. Her desk was in the middle, the monitor and keyboard shoved aside. The world outside the window was dark, framed in cold aluminium, and the fluorescent lights above flickered in disinterest.

The feather laid peacefully among physics books, government reports and new papers to be reviewed.

It was white like snow, no dust on it, not one barb disturbed. Like on the the day she had found it.

She was missing something rather important.

Fate was an atheist. Neither of her parents, devout as they were, had managed to instill anything religious in her. Hearing two different accounts about what should be the same historical happening made her sceptical, and like every child she decided to do the one thing to annoy both her parents and became a scientist, which was only moderately effective in the end, but at least they stopped to drag her to church and mosque. 

Fate also was a sceptic. And something, with liters of coffee and quite a bit of whiskey in her, made her wonder.

She grabbed her bottle of whiskey and mumbled into it, if this was a thing of fate,  _ hah! _ , or some godly power, or general universe fuckery? And took another big gulp of it.

She shook these thoughts from her head – she was a scientist, god dammit, so she will find out what specific kind of universe fuckery it is. She sat down in front of her PC, rechecking the data crunching algorithms she knew and some new ones she had developed on the data she had gathered about the feather.

And still - nothing.

Tapping her fingers on the desk she picked up the feather. A pristine white thing, where it made contact with her fingertips it gave a slight tingle. Her eyes fell on Smith’s report. She turned the feather around in her fingers.

Pepper carefully stood on the base of the bridge’s pillar. Everything looked absolutely, disconcertingly normal. She felt around the cold stone, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

Maybe it is outside occult and ethereal perception, she recalled Anathema’s words, like Adam. Outside occult and ethereal… 

Pepper chewed on her bottom lip. Adam and Anathema had met before the happenings on the airbase, Adam had told her. Did Anathema knew that Adam was the Antichrist before Armageddon? Pepper worked through her memories as she stood clutching to a stone pillar, the river Thames calmly flowing underneath her. 

Anathema had complained about changing leylines… her magic didn’t detect Adam either. 

Ethereal, occult  _ and _ human magic rolled right of Adam. But he was not imperceptible. Pepper climbed around the pillar, feeling blindly at the rough stone in the darkness of the London night.

‘Bingo,’ she breathed into the air.

Fate Pierce was not a superstitious woman, but sometimes a little superstition helped. For example, she once read a book by Marie Kondo and realized that thanking things she needed to throw out helped to let go. 

So, there was no harm to do a little ritual, was there?

At worst it will give her some more ideas about what was the deal with this feather. She had sent some samples to an old friend, an avian biologist, who had confirmed, that this was an ordinary swan feather.

One of the pages from the archives in right hand, she drew a circle with chalk, copying the runes of the paper to her desk as well as she could. She put up candles and incense, ambiance is important, and added a cup of pig’s blood which she had gotten from a butcher, to a wooden bowl. Fate thought of her mother and wrinkled her nose. Using pig’s blood in arcane rituals probably was not halal.

Sitting here, with this get up, she actually felt a bit silly – if she had at least done this at home, not in her office! But it was late, and if Josh could steal gloves and unused reaction tubes without anybody caring, she could just as well do some arcane, blood-related, rituals.

Fate swirled the pig’s blood in the bowl, staring into to the reflections of the overhead lights in it.

It hit her like lightening – the feather’s raman spectra, there was a shift and a peak she had missed! She carefully put down the bowl of blood.

Arcane ritual forgotten she scrambled to her PC and threw herself into her data. 

And after another four cups of coffee with gracious amounts of whiskey she got up and went into the lab and prepared the laser. She put her safety goggles on her face.

This was shaping up to be a very productive night.


	17. Let's involve something called 'nuance'

Eleven beings, nine humans and two supernaturals, were in a bookshop in Soho. They had trawled half a day and the whole night to search for whatever Heaven and Hell were planning, and one of them, Pepper, had brought something back.

Tracy barely managed to conceal a yawn. Shadwell was snoring deeply, the little Libera on his lap snoring an octave higher.

The demon of the group lifted his sunglasses and squinted at the thing, but quickly turned around and dropped his glasses back on his nose.

‘Urgh, that thing’s givin’ me a headache,’ Crowley said.

‘What is… this?’ Tracy asked, eyeing the thing.

‘It definitely has traces of divine and infernal magic in it, but it is very hard to observe,’ Aziraphale answered, ‘But I remember the effects on perception from the grail.’

‘The grail? Like the holy grail?’ Wensleydale asked.

Aziraphale nodded.

‘ _ The _ grail had infernal influences?’ 

Aziraphale nodded again and said, ‘Oh yes, that was quite the… how would you call it, dear?’

‘Clusterfuck,’ Crowley answered.

‘Yes, I think that is an adequate description. It was in the…’

‘Angel, shut up. Please,’ Crowley looked very tired. 

Adam looked at the thing. He tried to Look at it. His head hurt. He tried to Know it. 

‘Ow,’ he whined as he squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his temples. It felt like a seller of knitting needles was testing their supplies on his brain.

‘Adam?’ Brian asked, offering a chocolate bar to his friend.

‘’m fine. That  _ thing _ really doesn’t like t’be looked at,’ Adam answered, taking the chocolate.

Wensleydale stepped towards the thing. He wasn’t sure why his friends and acquaintances had troubles looking at it - it was just some round stone sculpture. A layer of grime and filth covered the grey, smooth surface of the sphere.

He took it into his hands. The hard surface was sticky.

Brian also looked at the thing. He got up and tapped a nail on it.

Satisfied with his observations he declared, ‘I think it’s a bomb.’ 

The seconds dripped by.

Adam rubbed his head and demonstratively looked past the offending thing. He asked, ‘Why’d y’ think it’s a bomb?’

Brian cleared his throat and answered, ‘Well, they want t’ get rid of humanity, right? ‘n bombs’re the easiest way.’

Adam nodded.

Anathema said, ‘So we need to find a way how to disarm these bombs.’

Tracy interjected, ‘Bombs need a trigger. What’s this bomb’s trigger?’

Wensleydale said, ‘A timer? A specific action? A switch?’

Crowley hummed, ‘A timer wouldn’t make sense, Hell sucks at Earth time. All their clocks and calendars are wrong.’

Aziraphale stretched out his hands. The thing was not perceptible by magical means, only by the basic human senses. So he reigned in his angelness and felt for the thing with his hands. Thinking back on the Heavenly order he said, ‘A switch would make sense. Like a-’

‘Big, red, button,’ Anathema answered. Then she sighed, ‘That’s so cliche.’

Tracy asked, ‘So, how do we disarm it?’

Wensleydale put the thing down. 

‘Well, in th’ films they-’

Shrill ringing interrupted him. Everybody looked at Crowley who pulled out his phone. He lifted a finger, and said, ‘Sorry, gotta take this.’

‘Warlock, my dear. What’s up? I’m kinda in the middle of something.’

He halted halfway out of the room, intently listening to the other person on the phone. Then he turned around and asked, ‘Anybody got a laptop around?’

Wensleydale dug out his laptop and after making Newt promise that he will not touch it, powered it on.

On Crowley’s cellphone Warlock was on speakerphone, explaining.

‘Okay, so we’re currently in the UK for some diplomatic stuff, right?’

‘Oh, Warlock, dear, why didn’t you tell us? We would have visited!’ Aziraphale interrupted.

‘S’rry, it was all pretty hush-hush, didn’t know if I was allowed to tell you-’, Warlock cleared his throat, ‘Later. So, I found out that one of the closets in the hall had a fake back wall, and there was some kind of maintenance tunnel behind it. And that tunnel ended right behind my dad’s office and even had two holes where I could watch him through!’

‘Wicked,’ Adam said, impressed.

‘You’re spying on your father, Warlock?’ Aziraphale asked, shocked.

‘Not. The. Point. Yell at me later, please,’ Warlock interrupted, ‘This evening some scientist visited my dad and they telco’d the president. Open up the video.’

Crowley opened the link Warlock had sent him, while the ten other beings crowded around him.

‘The first part of their conversation is cut off, I only started when she started talking ‘bout portals.’

The video was shaky and showed three people standing around a heavy oak table in a richly decorated room.

‘...insane, Ms Pierce,’ they heard Mr. Dowling say.

‘No, not insane,’ the hijabi woman next to him said, grinning wildly, ‘It’s brilliant. Brilliant. Just watch.’

She went around and interacted with a small machine on the desk. A laser beam ignited and hit something hidden behind the third person. As soon as the light was turned a sound like bells chimed out of the speakers.

‘Just angle a laser with the right wavelength and amplitude towards this artifact,’ the woman said and as she fiddled with something the ringing of bells increased, multiple pitches joining in, disharmonious and grating. 

Aziraphale was very pale.

The laser light increased in intensity and suddenly the bells ringing resonated, sounding beautiful even out of the tinny laptops speakers, and on the screen they watched a swirling white vortex appeared.

The scientist yelled other the storm of the bells, ‘And I did some further research- some colleagues here in Cambridge found portals just like that all other the place! Although the radiation make-up is very different to this one-’

‘Madwoman! Turn it off!’ the voice of the president cut through it.

The scientist powered down her laser, muttering hasty apologies, ‘Sorry, got a bit carried away, but this is…’

‘I know what this  _ is _ . Dowling,’ the strict voice addressed the stricken-looking father of Warlock.

‘Yes, Mrs. President?’ he asked, adjusting his tie.

‘This is connected to the weapons we have found. Inform the prime minister,’ the voice took a pause, ‘This is  _ our _ planet.’

‘Yes, Mrs. President, goodb- oh she hung up,’ Mr. Dowling visibly deflated and mumbled, ‘Fuck, she’s scary.’

The recording stopped.

‘Yeah after that the scientist woman disappeared pretty fast and dad just called the prime minister to tell him ‘bout what happened,’ Warlock said from the phone. 

Anathema cleared her throat and asked, ‘Did… did she just open a portal to Heaven?’

‘How’d I know?’ Warlock asked.

‘I think so,’ Crowley said. He looked to his angel who was worryingly pale, ‘Can’t really mistake  _ that _ bell sound for anything else.’

‘Th’ know ‘bout the… things,’ Adam commented, ‘ An’ th’ gonna do somethin’ ‘bout it.’

‘Warlock, do they know it’s Heaven and Hell or do they assume it’s some other agent?’ Crowley asked.

‘I don’t know, but give fifteen minutes and I can find out if dad has some documents on it,’ he answered and hung up the call.

They waited with deep breaths.

The phone rang again. 

‘Yeah. Yeah. They know. They’ve known for a long time,’ Warlock paused.

‘Warlock?’ Crowley asked.

‘I just… Here’s an argument from some adviser, from ‘06, and, uh.’

Madame Tracy leaned towards the cellphone and carefully said, ‘My dear, what is bothering you?’

There was a long silence on the other side of the line. 

‘This argument… Like, It’s not Heaven and Hell’s place to interfere, right? ‘nd maybe, if they’re really that intent on hurting us, and uh, maybe destruction, that would be the best for humanity?’

Aziraphale took in a shocked breath to say something, but was interrupted by Adam who held up a hand.

‘Warlock? Adam’s m’ name.’

Adam waited until Warlock made an affirmative noise.

‘Y’re right. Those two bunch’o sod-offs havn’t any right t’ mess in our business,’ he said, ‘But, tha’ doesn’t mean th’ we can jus’ act like sod-offs too ‘n invade their home ‘n bomb it t’ hell, doesn’t’t?’

Adam still held up his hand, hushing anyone. Pepper nodded furiously.

‘Like - r’mber - m’ddl’ east? People escalatin’ ‘gain ‘n ‘gain, ‘n did tha’ help anyone? Did th’ help the people livin’ there to not hate th’ west?’

There was a long silence on the other side of the line.

‘...guess not,’ Warlock mumbled, ‘But how do we keep them from destroying earth?’

Adam grinned widely, teeth showing. ‘That’s where we involve som’thin’ called nuance.’

The sound of rustling paper sounded from the other side of the call.

‘Alright,’ Warlock said, ‘Alright. They wrote down...’


	18. Hell's bells

Crowley sauntered into Hell like belonged to him. It was still the damp, crowded, sticky place with flickering neon lights he remembered it.

‘All that human souls and not one interior designer,’ he muttered under his breath while occasionally taking a sip out of a plastic bottle he was carrying. It was just tap water, but the demons around him would wonder and be terrified all the same. Demons were a gossipy bunch – nothing festers envy and wrath as nicely as gossip did – and word about his holy water immunity had traveled far, and using this well cultivated paranoia to keep himself safe was just wise.

He strutted with purpose towards his destination. He really did not like being here. If it was up to him he would have let them figure their upcoming problems on their own, but Aziraphale was insistent. 

‘At least inform Beelzebub,’ the angel had said, ‘they were so nice!’ 

Crowley snorted. He literally would walk into Hell for his angel and when his angel asked he did.

Intelligence really wasn’t one of his strong suits, Crowley thought, resigned.

On his way through the hellish hallways he was occasionally accosted by a demon trying something – asking for his secret regarding the holy water immunity or looking for a fight – but he managed to brush them off with words and posturing. Not too different from the last 6000 years before the first Apocalypse that was not. As he reached Beelzebub’s office, he straightened his back and wiped any non existent dust off his jacket.

He took a deep breath and immediately regretted it. He really was not used anymore to the smell of decay, mold and moisture. After some more moments of stalling, he kicked open the door.

‘Beelzebub, ol’ pal, how’s Hell treating you?’ He walked through the office with a very fake jovial tone. The door slammed close behind him.

‘Crowley,’ the prince of Hell was genuinely surprised, ‘I wouldn’t have thought to ever zzee you here again.’ 

They cleared their throat and swept aside the file they were reading. The papers floated to the floor.

They cocked their head and narrowed their eyes, ‘Hell doezzn’t want you anymore.’

‘Well, I don’t want Hell either, so great- or bad- that we’re on the same page here,’ Crowley answered nonchalant.

He sat down on Beelzebub’s overloaded desk and started playing with some seemingly sophisticated toy that all superiors’ offices have on their desks. 

Beelzebub stared at him puzzled. 

They asked, ‘Zzo why are you interrupting my work? I could have you thrown into the deepest pitzz of Hell, right now.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ he waved dismissively, ‘I know. I come with a warning.’ 

He stared at the office toy for a second as Beelzebub twitched their head to the other side.

‘Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t have cared one bit, but for some blessed reason Aziraphale has taken a liken to you.’ 

Beelzebub raised an eyebrow and listened. 

Crowley cleared his throat and continued, ‘And he’s the only reason I’m not keeping it as vague as you did.’

He shot Beelzebub a meaningful look, which lingered a couple seconds. 

Then he said, ‘The humans somehow found out about your – yours and Heaven’s – plans about their destruction. And they’re not happy. I have just some small idea about what they’re planning, and I saw the pope at the coast of some really big body of water,’ he paused to look at a particular grimy corner of the room, ‘It won’t be pretty for Hell.’

The prince of Hell just continued to look at the rogue demon eyes squinted.

‘Why would we care what zzome humanzz are planning to do?’

Crowley picked up the top most folder of a stack and lazily looked through it.

‘Well. Somehow they figured out a way to find the various entrances to Heaven and Hell. And are currently finding a way to cross them.’

Crowley sighed and put down the folder. He explained, ‘Listen, I’m not here to convince you of anything. Humans are crafty little buggers, and if there is one thing they enjoy more than destroying other humans they deem as ‘other’, then it will be destroying human looking creatures which are definitely ‘other’. Just- just think about it. Can’t have a war if y’all are erased from existence, can you?’ 

He shot the prince something that could be interpreted as a smile.

‘Or thizz might be a trick to keep uzz from dezztroying humanity and you,’ Beelzebub said.

Crowley’s shoulder slumped and he said, ‘Or it could be this, sure.’ 

He straightened his back and cracked his neck. Then he added, ‘I told you what I had to say, it’s up to you what you do with it.’

He got up and walked out of the door. Beelzebub stared after him, thinking.

Beelzebub leaned back closed their eyes. A leaky pipe dripped behind them. Every light bulb flickered. No bird song, no food, no sunlight or rain. No death and no life. No rot and adrenaline and alcohol. Just the damp basement of Hell.

Was the decision between eternal suffering and eternal death really their lot’s only choice?

They shook the thoughts away and pressed a button on the intercom on their desk.

‘Demonzz of Hell, thizz izz an order,’ their voice sounded through the levels through crackling speakers. The demons shuffling around stopped, intently listening their prince’s voice. ‘Clozze all doorzz, all portalzz, entrancezz and other non zzpecified pazzagezz. All agentzz on earth are ordered to remain their pozztzz. Nobody izz to leave the lower levelzz.’

Beelzebub clicked of the intercom.

Dagon opened the door and looked into Beelzebub’s office.

‘The other princes won’t like that.’

Beelzebub glared at her and answered, ‘If they have a problem with my orderzzz they can move their azzezzz here and complain themzzelvezzz.’

Dagon shrugged and closed the door again.

Beelzebub leaned back and closed their eyes. Now, let’s see of traitor Crowley was telling the truth.


	19. Knockin' on Heaven's door

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note the changed chapter count - I miscounted the chapters :,D

Aziraphale walked through Heaven. Even before Armageddon he had never really enjoyed this place. A ll sharp lines, reflective white surfaces, glass and clinicality. Like a hospital owned by someone not interested in healing. There were no books, food, inventions, questions, philosophical discussions, or anything allowed. Only obedience. He shivered.

He caught glimpses of other angels. Some of them blatantly stared at him, ramrod straight and closed off. Others tried to take off inconspicuously as soon as they saw him.

Heaven might’ve denied it, but angels were just as gossipy as demons. Not that there was much else to do at the heavenly water coolers than to gossip a bit about your coworkers and superiors. So basically every angel of the third sphere was bound to know of him.

He arrived at the white door to Gabriel’s office undisturbed. The white door in the white wall, connected to the white ceiling and floor. Aziraphale felt a headache brewing behind his eyes. He rapped his knuckles against the door. Lord, he missed his bookshop and the cottage and Crowley and he had barely spent fifteen minutes in Heaven.

‘Come in,’ Gabriel’s voice called from behind the door.

Aziraphale entered the office and carefully closed the door behind him. Towers of pages upon pages were on Gabriel’s desk, carefully stacked and arranged in three piles.

‘What is it? I’m quite busy with-,’ the archangel’s voice trailed off as he lifted his head to look at the visitor who dared disturb his work.

Gabriel’s smile fell to disgust.

‘Aziraphale. Heaven only is for angels, so what are  _ you _ doing here?’ Gabriel sneered.

‘I am an angel. And-’

‘That’s debatable.’

‘Don’t interrupt me, that’s rude,’ Aziraphale said sternly.

Gabriel gaped. No angel ever dared to talk back at him.  _ Aziraphale _ never would dare to talk back at him. He was- Gabriel shook his head. To him, this specific angel was nothing but an annoying fly, he assured himself.

Gabriel smiled at Aziraphale and said, ‘You spend far too much time with that pet demon of yours. You became lippy.’

Aziraphale stared back, unimpressed. 

He answered, ‘Crowley is not my pet, he is my closest, dearest friend and husband – and I am not ‘lippy’, I am honest. But I did not come here to quarrel with you, Gabriel,’ Aziraphale shook his head, ‘I came here to give you a warning, which I don’t have to do, mind you.’

Gabriel narrowed his eyes, but said nothing. Aziraphale decided to interpret this as ‘I am listening’.

‘The humans have figured out about your plans to destroy them, and they are a bit miffed about that.’

Gabriel shot to his feet, eyes blazing a fiery purple. He slammed his hands on his desk and shouted, ‘Who the fuck has told you about it?! Do I have another traitor angel on my hands?!’ 

Aziraphale flinched and immediately berated himself about it - he shouldn’t be afraid anymore of Gabriel, they were safe. But yet… Aziraphale clasped his hands in front of himself.

He said, ‘A lot of angels and demons are scurrying on earth, more than in all the millennia before combined. You weren’t particularly subtle about it.’ 

Gabriel scoffed.

‘Well then. And why should I care about what some humans are feeling? Let them be  _ miffed _ .’

‘Humanity is resilient. They have survived wars, plagues, and developed some rather efficient ways to kill each other. And they will find ways to make you as miserable as possible when you are trying to cull them,’ Aziraphale answered.

Gabriel stared at him, purple eyes full of ice. 

‘And?’

‘And they figured out a way to create portals into Heaven.’

At this the archangel froze. 

‘What?’

‘And it is only a matter of time before they figure out how to cross them. They are smart like that,’ Aziraphale said, a serene smile on his lips, ‘Planes, electricity, molecular biology – do you know they can follow a specific carbon atom through the cell by something called radioactive tracing? They built big tubes of steel and frozen nitrogen to shoot particles at each other to figure out the world around them and they will definitely figure out a way into Heaven to keep themselves safe.’ 

He stared directly into Gabriel’s eyes who had paled at what the principality had said.

Gabriel stood stockstill, hands still firmly placed on the desk in front of him. If the traitor was right, humans finding a way to Heaven before they died- No, that was impossible. Gabriel was an archangel. Someone the angels looked for reassurance and it wasn’t in his mind to doubt. Angels who doubted fell. Except for one very infuriating principality. And the more Gabriel stared at said principality in front of him, the angrier he grew, until the cold flames of wrath were lapping his insides eagerly. 

‘Leave,’ he pressed, ‘Take your warning, shove it somewhere, and  _ fuck off. _ ’

Aziraphale nodded and turned to leave. At the door he stole one small glance back at the archangel before opening it. He left.

Wrath still was swirling inside of Gabriel. He knew that wrath was a sin, one of the big seven, but on the other hand, angels were supposed to express righteous wrath when the occasion called for it, weren’t they? And a traitorous, gluttonous, shit excuse for an angel getting in the way of the great, the  _ divine _ plan, surely was a good enough goal to get righteously angry at.

Gabriel straightened his posture and clasped his hands behind his back. He turned around and stepped towards the window where he could see the great buildings of humanity. The dirt-covered, uncleaned monuments of humanity’s arrogance. He shuddered.

Something in Gabriel’s subconsciousness was needling at him. He decided to call in a meeting with the other archangels. They always managed to soothe any non-angelic thoughts and to reassure him about the great Plan and about divine will.

He pushed a button on the intercom. 

‘Call in Uriel, Michael and Sandalphon for a meeting. Room 3732.’ 

He didn’t wait for an answer, instead taking of directly to their usual meeting room.

He needn’t wait long before the three marched in through the door. Michael was her usual warrior self, ready for battle. She sported some bruises around her neck. Gabriel was impressed that she nearly took her position as serious as he did. Sandalphon seemed unaffected and was talking to Michael about something about payroll formatting, not aware, or not caring, that she wasn’t listening. Uriel just looked worried, but adjusted herself when she caught Gabriel staring.

Gabriel told them about what Aziraphale had told him and they all looked scandalized. They all mirrored what Gabriel thought – humans would never be able to breach Heaven without, y’know, dying, and any worry the principality had raised was nonsense, really.

Really.

‘He was probably just trying to tempt you – something his demon boyfriend has taught him,’ Michael assured, ‘Everything will go along with the Plan. Armageddon is Her plan, and we need to work diligently. Nothing ever comes easy to the righteous, does it?’ 

The group hummed in agreement, but Gabriel saw no real conviction in them. Each of them was lost in thought, and he wasn’t as reassured as he hoped. But this was Her will, wasn’t it? They were not in the position to question it, and She really liked to test Her subjects. Not only humanity, he wasn’t that naive. And they will pass the test with flying colors, no other angel would fall and all the mockery of the angels who had – the demons – will be destroyed. And they all be banished, ignored and smote to nothingness. And for the Good, no wriggle of doubt will be left. 

Uriel asked, ‘Gabriel?’ and interrupted him in his work towards some fine wrath.

‘What, sister?’ he asked, between clenched teeth.

‘Heaven needs its leaders. The angels need their leaders. Please stay, brother,’ she pleaded, ‘Just for a while, until they have settled down a bit.’

He eyed Uriel with soft eyes.

‘I’ll stay, sister, until it’s time for war. And then we will fight and be victorious against the hordes of Evil!’

Uriel looked at him and said, ‘I hope you’re right, brother.’

She turned around and left.

Gabriel felt very alone.


	20. Heaven burns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that that chapter took a while, after finishing the last I realized I forgot to write and draft the first half of this one :,D  
But after this one the rest should be smooth sailing!  
I also fused this chapter with the following one, so changed chapter count!

A few days before warnings

The magic behind the thing of Heaven and Hell was a complicated amalgamation between infernal and ethereal influences, painted in heavy coats of diversion spells. Anathema and Newt with the help of Crowley and Aziraphale spent long, migraine-rich days trying to detangle and to decipher the woven enchantments. Not even with the goal to completely understand them, just to disable the destructive capabilities of these things. 

Newt teased apart two magical threads with a pin. He gave one of them to Anathema and stuck the other one to the desk. Anathema had dark bags under her eyes. The work was exhausting - the fine threads were starting to hurt her fingers and she couldn’t just unspool everything, since they didn’t know what exactly the thing will do once ignited. She slowly pulled on the thread in her fingers while Newt grabbed a new one. The two supernatural beings in front of her did their own work on the other side of the thing, but had to take far more breaks because of the nature of the thing.

A crossing fiber made her pause. It felt coarser, rough like cotton. She followed it. But it didn’t cross anymore spellwork, the magical thread just ended. Anathema furrowed her brows and turned the thread around, going into the other direction. And she crossed some of the, as Crowley eloquently had put it, ‘Big fuck-ass explosion’-threads. And more of them. All of them.

A fuse, she thought, I found the fuse. Now we need to find out how to disable the fuse. Preferably in a non-witch way.

While they worked on defusing the thing they had tasked Warlock and the rest of the gang to find ways to inform the rest of humanity of the impending danger, since, even if they find out how to defuse and disable one thing, there were probably many more all other the planet. And they were just a merry bunch of misfits - they needed the help. 

Finding out how to disable the fuse went surprisingly fast after Anathema had found it. But the magical brain power of an earthen witch, an infernal and an ethereal being used on one fuse spell worked wonders. While they were discussing how to change it up so that even a non-witch could shut off the fuse from working, heavy metal cut through the air.

Crowley pulled out his phone from his pocket and took the call, ‘Warlock?’

‘Hey, Nanny. There’s some trouble,’ Warlock answered.

Crowley stood up and asked, ‘Are you alright? Do you need help?’

‘No, no I’m fine; They were talking about the things we’ve gave them information of. That scientist managed to connect the thing to the portals she had opened - and some dude reported about existing doorways to the ‘underworld’ and… They know that those things are weapons. They… They found those things all over the world.’

Warlock took a deep breath.

‘The president said that this is an attack on the people of the earth. The others agreed with her.’

A break.

‘What else did they say, Warlock?’ Crowley asked.

Warlock sighed, then continued, ‘That this can’t stand. They call it ‘ sovereignty’. I took some photos of the plans. They want to flood Hell with holy water and send in planes with atomic bombs into heaven.’

Now

Aziraphale held onto Crowley. 

The scientist had opened wide, blindingly white, grinding portals in the sky. The bells’ sound thundered across the lands. The ground beneath their feet shivered. Screams of the damned cut through between the bells, weaving a haunting, deafening melody.

Bombers cut through the sky, black silhouettes in front of a piercingly blue background, flying towards and through the portals. Each plane crossing the boundary felt like a flash of violation in the bones of anybody attuned to the differences of the planes. This was not how the flow of mortality is supposed to work. 

And even worse was the grinding pain when a plane came flying back out of a portal unarmed, lighter of its terrible load.

Aziraphale’s insides twisted. The anger and pain of Heaven tugged deep at him.

‘I need to help them,’ he murmured into Crowley’s jacket.

Crowley pulled his angel closer to him and shook his head.

‘There’s nothing you can do.’

‘Darling,’ Aziraphale sighed, ‘They don’t know humanity as I do. Please, they need help.’

The angel looked at the portal as another chime of the bells boomed over the land.

Aziraphale stepped into Heaven. 

It was burning. 

One of the spires reaching into eternity crumbled as the flames ate through the base. The pristine white walls were stained with ash. Thick clouds of dark grey smoke billowed through the air and the sound of the kerosene powered motors of the planes bounced of the walls.

That would be a view he will remember, Aziraphale was sure. The falling tower housed the department of intra-circle communication, he remembered. Now and then he had meetings with Raqib to correct Heaven’s records of humanities current doctrines. He remembered Raqib, if not fondly, at least neutrally. Raqib, as a record keeper, was only as interested in humanities affairs as it related to his job, but at least he wasn’t actively hateful like some other angels were.

Angels flew in distress. Aziraphale wondered if Raqib was among them.

Aziraphale wrung his hands. Heaven, his home, was under attack, and yet - he realized that he did not feel as uncomfortable as he should. Sure, his superiors never were friendly towards him, except for Her, of course, interactions with Her always were perfectly pleasant, mind you. The interactions with Her six thousand years ago, before She chose silence. 

Heaven had felt cold for a long time. Had felt detached and Loving, but not loving.

Seeing it burn still twisted wretchedly inside his chest, but he felt guilty that it didn’t hurt as much as he thought it should. It felt like watching someones house on the other side of the city burn.

Deep in thought he didn’t see or hear another angel stomping towards him.

‘Principality Aziraphale!’ an angry voice shouted and Aziraphale turned around, startled.

‘Gabriel? Oh my dear, what happened to you?’ Aziraphale’s hands which were wringing stopped and moved palms open towards the angel in front of him. 

Gabriel slapped the hands away. He looked awful. His tailored suit was ripped and stained with ash. He had a cut at his temple which was still was oozing golden blood. He sneered at Aziraphale.

‘What are you doing here? Enjoying the destruction?’ He asked disgusted.

‘Wha- of course not!’ Aziraphale exclaimed, baffled, ‘I came here to-’

‘To witness the death of thousands of angels? I wonder how you are still on our employment records,  _ sunshine _ ,’ Gabriel hissed.

Aziraphale looked into the archangels purple eyes. Some time ago – was it only two decades? It felt like multiple lifetimes – he would have shrunk under the cold gaze of him. But now, he felt nothing but compassion and pity. He took a step towards Gabriel, who took a step back.

‘No, Gabriel. I did not come here to see them die.’ 

He took another step towards Gabriel, and talked, ‘I saw the planes heading here and hoped to help. To help guide the others towards safety, so that they do not die, again, and again, and again, and to help close the portals to stop the destruction.’ 

He stretched out a hand to touch Gabriel’s face, who slapped it away again. Aziraphale sighed. 

‘More bombs are on the way, Gabriel. Go save the angels. Send them to the records office, it should be fortified and unassuming enough to stand up to the bombing. The surveillance headquarters and the barracks can be used as a distraction, some other angels and I’ll can try to redirect the bombers destinations towards those.’

‘And why should I trust a  _ traitor _ ?’ Gabriel spat.

Aziraphale smiled a sad little smile at the archangel in front of him. 

‘You can also let them all get discorporated, your call. I’ll try to distract the planes towards the barracks.’

Gabriel looked like he had much more to say, but after some impressive seething he stomped off.

There was no GPS in Heaven, so the pilots worked off their experience. Aziraphale tired to weave an illusion of armies and towers on the already destroyed ruins of Heaven’s office. He hoped that this was distracting enough of the rest of Heaven.

At one point the onslaught of humanity calmed and Aziraphale returned to Earth. He was very, very tired. His demon had his arms around him, and Aziraphale listened to the regular thump, thump, thump of the demon’s heart beat. With only the warmth of an embrace and the regular thump of another’s chest in his ears his own racing heart started to slow down.

Ah, that’s what was missing in Heaven, he thought, I’m feeling safe here.

The only reason Aziraphale’s didn’t fall asleep right here was because Crowley insisted on talking.

’The president of the USA flew a plane into Heaven and chucked an atomic bomb into the heavenly skyscrapers and you decided to help these assholes!’

‘Actually, I think the first two planes were Russian, the third one was American.’

That did interrupt Crowley from scolding Aziraphale about being irresponsible. 

Crowley could already hear the gloating of the Russian propaganda machine. Sure, Americans went first to the moon, but they managed to fly the first plane into blessed  _ Heaven _ .

Aziraphale barely suppressed a yawn.

‘I also saw some of the other countries’ planes. I just wish Gabriel and the others would have listened the first time, would have saved them a lot of discorporation paperwork. That will surely take at least half a century, since it hit one of the biggest barracks.’

They sat still for a moment. Aziraphale might not like the Heavenly host anymore, but they were still somewhat family. And he still loved them, even if it just was in an ethereal, ineffable, angelic way. 

He hoped that radioactivity doesn’t influence celestial souls beyond their mortal corporations.

‘Considering the effects of radiation, the recovery might even take longer, He pulled a face, ‘They might not be able to keep up with the paperwork, it will pile up,’ After a beat he added, ‘What happened down below?’

Crowley gave a noncommittal sound before elaborating, ‘Strangely enough they listened and closed up all doors of Hell. Humans decided to bless the North Sea and flood Hell with it. It will take ages to dry everything,’ He scrunched up his face, ‘And I really hope that the water cycle dispels any lingering holiness, otherwise I would need change continents. To Asia, or Australia. If the rain is holy.’

A look of sheer terror passed the angels face. Crowley took him into a tight hug.

Aziraphale swallowed a tight lump which had formed in his throat, ‘N- No, the water needs to stay liquid, steam, ice or vapor are not able to keep the holiness. Michael did some experiments with holy rain, back after the whole Eden debacle. But as far as- as I know, when you bless a part of a connected body of water, all connected parts will be holy.’

Crowley chuckled dryly.

‘Well, then I can never take a bath in an ocean again. Small price to pay against the whole Apocalypse thing, no?’


	21. The new old dawn

The portals to Heaven closed with far less fanfare than they had opened with. One second the bells of Heaven thundered across the Earth, the next second the grinding maelstroms of light collapsed and left nothing but bright blue sky behind.

The disappearance of the portals of Hell was even less impressive, the open holes and doors just collapsed and only the mounds of disturbed dirt and stones were evidence that something happened there.

A group of people stood in front of a certain bookshop in Soho, watching as the sky returned to normal.

Pepper asked, ‘Okay, what’s happening?’

‘Maybe they’ve decided to call it quits?’ Wensleydale wondered.

‘Nah, those were American ‘n Russians,’ Brian said as he chewed on a bite of his sandwich, ‘They don’t just quit.’

‘No,’ a witch interrupted their musings.

Anathema and Madame Tracy walked up to the small group. Newt trailed behind the two and Libera bounced. 

The witch continued, ‘I talked to Warlock some more and figured out how they managed find and cross the portals.’

She stopped in front of Aziraphale. She opened her bag and pulled out a feather, a pristine, white and slightly dusty thing.

Crowley tilted his head and knotted his brows. 

‘A swan feather?’ he asked. A slither of a memory tickled the base of his brain, ‘How’d you get that?’

‘Sneaked into a maximum security government building and stole it.’

The demon looked impressed, worried and thoughtful at the same time, which was a bit disturbing for the humans in attendance, while Aziraphale sputtered.

‘That was highly dangerous, Anathema, dear!’

‘I helped!’ the small girl next to her yelled.

‘Yeah, and Newt and Tracy too, so it wasn’t that hard,’ Anathema said, ‘No security system can with hold up against him.’

‘Well, the dogs were a bit of a problem,’ he interjected.

Anathema smiled and kissed Newt on the cheek, who blushed. 

Libera yelled, ‘Eww!’

Anathema turned the feather around in her hand and turned back to the angel.

‘This is the link which helped keep the portals open – and I don’t think the governments would have backed off if asked,’ she explained.

It won’t end at that, was the unspoken thought in the group, now that they know that there are other planes of existence they will throw everything in it to find ways to reach them. It isn’t over, and this time Heaven and Hell are on the wrong side of history.

Anathema gave the feather another twirl. 

She continued, ‘Also, it’s magical signature could be used to track the angel it belongs too – they are surprisingly unique. That’s why I’m here, to give it back to the one who’ve created it.’

Anathema held out the feather to Aziraphale.

‘What –?’ The angel looked at her baffled.

The memory came crashing down unto Crowley.

‘Oh fu-, angel, that’s the feather you gave Warlock! Back in 2020,’ he said.

Aziraphale stared at the miracled feather wide-eyed. He muttered, ‘Oh dear,’ and took it into his hand. It was soft to the touch, as if none of the last seven years had happened to it.

‘Well!’ Anathema exclaimed loudly, ‘How about some averted-Armageddon-again celebratory drinks? Who’s with me?’

‘I could go for a celebratory month long nap,’ Crowley mumbled.

Madame Tracy recommended one of her favorite bars and as the group started to walk to it, Pepper turned around and looked at the sky. In the place of the portal nothing but blue remained. She wondered if the whole of this situation could have been avoided. But, as Aziraphale would put it, it’s ineffable, right?

Pepper threw another questioning look towards the sky, then took off to join the group.

Of course the one being with a car and the ability to banish drunkenness and hangovers was tasked to drive everybody else home and or equivalent lodgings. The sun just started to rise, sending its first rays across the new, old world. 

He drove through the empty streets, the city still asleep, from Tracy’s and Shadwell’s shared apartments. Only the few people on their home from the night shift and on their way to work for the morning shift were on the street, beer and coffee respectively in their hands.

The bookshop dark, curtains drawn. Aziraphale stood in front of it, waiting for Crowley.

Crowley parked the Bentley and strode over to his angel. 

He gave a crooked smile and stopped in front of Aziraphale.

‘Well,’ somebody said behind Crowley who froze. 

He slowly turned around to face them.

Beelzebub, prince of Hell, Lord of the Flies stood on the sidewalk, hands in their pockets. They looked… sheepish?

‘I guezz I should thank you,’ they said.

The three stared at each other. As the sun continued to rise the shadows of the buildings moved across the pavement. The cloudless sky promised another hot, dry day.

Aziraphale cleared his throat and asked, ‘So, how is Hell faring?’

Beelzebub tsked. They looked up and said, ‘Better than Heaven, conzzidering Gabriel’zz whining.’

They took another step towards the two beings in front of them, the two who were neither human, nor angel, nor demon. The two who who not only were different, but also willing to do something about that. Beelzebub’s heart hurt, their soul hurt, but they knew that was the good kind of pain, the one which blooms when aligning a broken bone or the one from a difficult conversation. Beelzebub stared at the two who defied Heaven and Hell to forge their own way.

They smiled.

‘Hell will be fine. The water wazz barely holy, we dunked in Eric and he juzzt got zzome burnzzz.’

The angel, Aziraphale, Beelzebub remembered, relaxed. The started to whisper among each other and Beelzebub tried to not listen in. They cleared their throat, again.

‘It will take a lot of time to dry. But, that’zz not why I’m here. I…,’ they paused, scraping the tip of their right foot across the ground, ‘I want to - during my work I heard about a fruit called durian, it’zz supposed to smell rotten. And I have heard about zzomething the humanzz have created, a kind if fish which needs urea and rot to be palatable. And-,’ they interrupted themselves, ‘I’d like to travel thizz world. Izz thizz alright with you?’

Confusion was written on Crowley’s face. He shrugged exaggeratedly and said, ‘Why’re you asking?’

Beelzebub looked at him with a slight quirk of their lips.

‘It’zz your planet,’ they said.

  
‘Well, if you don’t cause any trouble, you can stay as much as you like,’ Aziraphale said.

The prince of Hell looked at the angel and the deep frown which normally cut across their features was replaced with a careful appearance of neutrality. Beelzebub nodded and said, ‘Thank you.’

Aziraphale worried, ‘But, what about the rest of Hell, won’t they give you trouble?’

Beelzebub too another step towards the two. They opened their arms wide. Flies started whipping around them and columns of roaring hellfire burst out behind of them. Crowley pulled Aziraphale close as the fraction of a prince’s power blazed through the street. 

‘I can deal with trouble,’ Beelzebub said as the flames screamed and churned behind of them, ‘Let them try.’

They dropped their arms and the flames and flies disappeared. The early London morning returned, undisturbed. 

Aziraphale managed to find his voice first, ‘Well, then, my dear, travel, we won’t keep you!’

Beelzebub smiled and disappeared into the morning sun.


	22. Epilogue

The sun’s rays were racing over the big rock hurtling through space. An angel and a demon sat on a tall building in the center of London and were watching the new old life. Life was waking up below them, workers stirring in their beds wary over another productive day, cab drivers driving towards and from the parking lots, the last of the graveyard shift finding their ways home. A feather dislodged of the pillow of a young bloke who had just started university as he tumbled down on his bed with the one who had caught his fancy. The feather drifted slowly and undisturbed by the happenings around of it towards the floor. 

The demon rested his head on his angel’s shoulder and expelled a breath he didn't even know he was holding. 

‘To the world.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow  
That was an experience. When I started this I thought, Ehhh, just some small little story. And then it completely escalated away from me!  
Just a little other a month and this 35k beauty poured out of my fingers.  
And I wanna thank every one of you who read until now! Again, I'd like to reiterate that I hope that you enjoy this even half as much as I enjoyed writing it!  
Thanks to all the peeps who clicked on this story, thanks to the ones who gave kudos, thanks to the ones who commented, and thanks to everyone who read it. <3 <3 <3


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